


To Live in Love and Laughter

by HackedByAWriter



Series: TLILAL [2]
Category: Shubh Mangal Zyada Saavdhan (2020)
Genre: Adopted Children, Angst, Fluff, Happy Ending, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Minor Character Death, Multi, One Shot Collection, Original Character Death(s), Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, POV Original Female Character, Parenthood, Sahiba Tripathi, Smut, jack and johnny, no the kid does not die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:48:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 29,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22985860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HackedByAWriter/pseuds/HackedByAWriter
Summary: blood doesn't make family but hearts certainly do - A collection of One-Shots detailing the life of Karthik and Aman with their adopted daughter Sahiba.
Relationships: Kartik Singh/Aman Tripathi, Sahiba Tripathi/Arjun Maheshwari
Series: TLILAL [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2100660
Comments: 243
Kudos: 218





	1. A Well Intentioned Thought

**Author's Note:**

> The writing gets progressively worse, I'll be coming back to edit after I finish the whole thing.

The night was cool and calm. Aman lay in bed curled up by Karthik’s side, his head on his chest. He was counting his husband's heartbeat, the soft pulse that pricked against his ears through warm soft skin. The steady rhythm. One, two, three. It calmed him, put him at ease like no music ever could.

Languidly Karthik’s fingers brushed over his spine in a way that sent his whole body aquiver. Aman smiled involuntarily. _I could live here forever._ He thought. _Here in this moment, kissed by darkness and starlight, the steady rush of life and that ever-beating pulse of love, love, and love again._

“Aman.” It was Karthik, saying his name. After all these years together he still couldn’t get over how he said it. As if it was something holy, like poetry or prayer. As if it tasted like honey on the tongue.

“Mmm?” He questioned looking up into Karthik’s eyes. Those brilliant dark eyes. They had been the first thing Aman had noticed when he had met Karthik. renting out the same apartment as college students. The second thing he had noticed was the tattooed goddess on his arm and flaring jealousy in his own heart directed at her.

Karthik’s smiling features had now turned serious. Despite all things, Aman loved these moments, this side of him. Gone was the openness and the absurdity. Karthik's brows were furrowed in concentration, his lips slightly parted. And his eyes, his damned eyes, were focused and intent. These moments didn’t come often, so Aman felt a certain privilege, a certain possessiveness, knowing that these moments were for him, and him eyes only. Karthik made a move to sit up, so Aman rolled off chest and lay on his back watching as his husband rose from the sheets, liked an ancient god birthed from mist and fury.

Karthik’s shoulders hunched forward as he drew his knees up to an almost-fetal position, the movement causing the sheets to play Russian roulette with their bare bodies. Through the light of the window, Aman could see the marks on back where the hot iron rod had met flesh, many years ago. They had faded considerably and maybe one day they will fade away for good, but he knew Karthik would never forget the way they had scorched him.

“I was reading the news this morning,” Karthik said in a voice that was so mournful that Aman wondered how he could have possibly kept whatever he was about to tell him to himself for the whole day. “They found a newborn baby girl, abandoned in a garbage dump. She…”

Karthik stopped talking. Perhaps he could not go on talking about it. The girl was dead, like almost every other abandoned girl in this godforsaken country. Aman, still laying on his back, reached out and placed his hand on Karthik’s back, running it down firmly in a motion that he knew would give Karthik comfort.

Aman wasn’t very good with words, sure he had his moments, but they didn’t happen often, he preferred to say what he wanted through his actions. Karthik understood that, just as he understood everything about him. He turned back and gave Aman a grateful smile, tears were forming in his eyes.

In that moment Aman saw what Karthik had seen. Thousands upon thousands of baby girls, their precious fragile bodies, broken, lying in shallow graves or amongst filth. Eyes that have never truly seen life, ears that have never truly heard music, mouths that will never taste, tongues that will never speak. All because they were girls.

“I was thinking…” Karthik said having regained his courage. “Maybe we could do something about it?”

Karthik was a man who came up with all sorts of plans to end world injustices. Each one was as wonderful, as brilliant, as daring, as ridiculous as the next. The scary thing was if someone decided to give Karthik that power he could probably pull it off. But this time, there was no gleam of madness in his eyes, just a fierce intensity that frightened Aman. The last time he had seen it was a year ago when Karthik had donned the pride flag like royal regalia and heralded a change for them both.

He had also been beaten black and blue for it.

“What can we do?” Asked Aman. “We can’t travel the country and pick up every abandoned newborn girl.”

“Not all of them. Maybe just one. We don’t even have to travel the whole country for it, just the adoption center…”

“You want to adopt a girl?”

Aman hadn’t thought about it before. Being a father. He never truly considered the possibility of someone else entering their lives. It had been Aman and Karthik, Karthik and Aman. _Mere liye tum kaafi ho._ They would say to each other. _You are enough._

“We don’t have to,” Karthik said hurriedly. “It’s a big ask I know, being a father.”

Aman didn’t answer him. He sat up and wrapped his arms around Karthik’s waist, his head resting between his shoulder blades. He studied the marks on his back where hot irons had been beaten into him. The marks that branded him as the son of a blacksmith, the marks that branded him as unloved. A father had done that. He thought of that day again, a year ago, and remembered how the rainbow flag had crumpled under the weight of Karthik’s unconscious body. How Shankar had taken the stick and done it. A father had done that too.

_But we don’t have to be like that. We are not our fathers._

“I know this is all of a sudden.” Said Karthik taking his silence as disapproval. “I’m sorry I…if you’re not ready…”

Aman’s arms tightened around Karthik and he kissed the soft spot between his neck and shoulders. The words that came out of his mouth surprised them both.

“I’m ready when you are.”

Years down the track, Aman liked to think that that was the night they conceived their daughter. At least in thought. Aman smiled remembering the moment between them at Rajini's wedding " _Papa ne banene ke, kya kiya? Sperm diya? Bas?" (What did your father do to become a father? Give a sperm? That's it? Right?)._ Karthik had asked.

Turns out, a well-intentioned thought worked just as well.


	2. 3 Months Old

It took them both a year after that night. A year of research and papers. A year of researching names (“No Karthik we are not naming her Kusum.”). A year of searching up the best way to raise a child to be happy and healthy (“Hey Aman, did you know that men can lactate?” “Have you been on Tumblr again? You know that’s wrong because of the production of the hormone prolactin…” “Alright Professor Tripathi, I didn’t come here for a science lecture. I studied literature for a reason.” “Why then? Did you _want_ to breastfeed her?”). A year of doubts and a year of hopes. Yet here they were.

When Aman had called the Tripathi’s and told them they were adopting a girl, Karthik could have sworn that the noise from the whole bloody _khaandhan (family)_ was so loud, a wire in the speaker of Aman’s phone had been damaged. Both Champa and Sunaina had come forward with their suggestions (which resulted in a lot of arguing, name-calling and the mention of that damned eggless omelet). Rajini continually asked whether they were joking, while Keshav (with the help of his beloved iPad) questioned whether they knew what they were getting themselves into. Shankar was mostly silent but seemed pleased when he did eventually congratulate them. Chaman Chacha was the only one who seemed truly jubilant about the news.

When it was finally determined that no they weren't joking, yes they knew what they were getting themselves into, and no Chachi they weren't going to douse her in tumeric when she arrived that it was decided that Sunaina, Shankar, and Rajini would move in with the two of them for a few months, at least until they got the hang of handling a baby.

Both Aman's parents, Sunaina and Shankar Tripathi, had to come to love Karthik in their own away. 

_One night last summer when they were at Allahabad and Aman had been asleep, Karthik had gone downstairs for a glass of water, shaken by a nightmare. The old memories didn’t plague him often, but when they did he liked to have a glass water, a cool one preferably. He liked to take small sips savoring it, letting it slide down his body, filling the (as he imagined) the dry and thirsty crevices within him. But as he made his way towards the kitchen, to his surprise he saw Shankar in the living room, sitting with two bottles of sherabh. If what Aman said was true and Shankar only drank when he was stressed, he must have been very stressed._

_“Is everything okay?” Karthik had asked awkwardly. At that point in time they barely talked to each other, when they did it always had a stiff awkward formality._

_Shankar motioned for him to sit in front of him and proffered him an unopened bottle “Drink?”_

_Karthik shrugged. Sure, he had thought, why not? So he had sat down and accepted the bottle._

_“Aman told me everything about your father…I never said sorry for that day,” said Shankar after the both of them had drained half their bottles. “I never asked for your forgiveness.”_

_Of course, he had meant the day when Karthik had shown up wearing the pride flag and decried Shankar as a homophobe. The day he had been beaten so badly he had been sure that he had broken a bone or would have been killed. Neither had happened thanks to Aman and his stupid psychological tricks (really he took an elective in PSYCH101 back in first year and now he thought he could rule the world)._

_“I shouldn’t have done that. It was disrespectful…" Karthik had said to Shankar. He wanted to clear the air, for Aman’s sake, he didn’t want that incident to hang over them for the rest of their lives, even if it meant holding out that stick and letting himself get beaten and trodden on all over again. Not everyone was lucky to have a loving father, he of all people knew that. "I didn’t know what I was thinking. I’m sorry, it was my fault.” He had finished._

_“Promise me, one thing son, never think it was your fault. Never. I forbid it.” Shankar said, voice cracking, tears in his eyes. He had even called him 'son'. “A child never deserves to be beaten no matter what they have done. What I did was heartless and cruel, can you forgive me?”._

_Karthik wasn’t sure whether it was the drink or Shankar’s words (perhaps it had been both) but he had leaped forward and embraced his father-in-law before he too wept bitterly in his arms. He had never thought he’d get it, the apology he had hoped and dreamed his own father -the blacksmith- would one day give him. Yet there it was._

And Sunaina? Sunaina Tripathi was an angel in the body of a mortal woman, she even put up with Karthik’s (extremely, horrible, terrible, hopeless, no good, very bad) attempts at learning how to cook. Mostly he was regulated to the counter as they discussed politics, hoping he could take in the skills needed for cooking via osmosis. However whenever the Tripathi family would sit down to eat she would proudly announce that half of the cooking was Karthik’s. 

Karthik Singh had now become an almost integral part of the Tripathi family. Despite this Karthik was sure Sunaina didn’t trust the two them to raise a child, and as she was fond of saying “Mothers have hearts, fathers run on batteries.” Though Karthik and Aman didn’t believe in the concept of “a mother’s touch” when it came to parenting, there was no denying Sunaina knew what she was doing.

As for Aman's cousin, Rajini, well, she was probably here to laugh at them every time they fucked up. Karthik didn't mind that, he knew an extra pair of hands could be useful since maternity leave wasn’t a thing for men and both of them worked full time, Karthik as a journalist and aspiring writer, Aman as a biology and chemistry teacher at their local high school, hoping to get a job as a professor someday. 

Years later Karthik would say he couldn't properly remember their visit to the adoption centre because as soon as he lay eyes on his daughter (a sweet three-month-old with a head of dark curls) he knew that for the fifth time in his life he had fallen truly and irrevocably in love.

His first love had been Punjab. The open fields, the clean air. He could still remember the taste of warm buffalo milk on his tongue, and the smell of freshly hewn grass, the feeling of black rich soil beneath the soles of his feet. Every memory was laden with song, if he closed his eyes he could still hear the old ballads his grandmother would sing to him, as she would wrap him in her brightly coloured phulkari dupatta before she had died. She had sung of lovers, of warriors, of great prophets and terrible gods. He had tucked away every one of her stories, stolen a portion of her warmth, kept it alive nurtured it until it became a raging inferno inside him. It had kept him alive when he had been teetering over the edge of death. The stories, both his grandmother's and his own were, he knew, the reason why he was still alive.

The second time he fell in love was when he was five years old and his older brother, Harpreet, had snuck him out of their village, into Patiala, to an arcade and showed him how to play Super Mario Bros. His second love had been the arcade (and perhaps Mario, but that was debatable).

His third love had been the son of a local farmer whom he used to play kabaddi with. Arjit had been his name. They were both fifteen and their love was as pure and as golden as the fields that Karthik would serenade him on. They had been Heer and Ranja, Laila and Majnu, reborn. They had thought they were inseparable but his father and had found the two of them in an embrace and then…well, he would rather not think of that.

The fourth had been Aman. They had met as roommates renting the same apartment as they started college in Delhi, Aman as a biochem student and Karthik as a Literature major. The first thing he had noticed about Aman was his smile and it was then that Karthik finally understood why Romeo had compared Juliet to the light of the rising sun. The second thing he had noticed about Aman had been his terrible choice of clothes (something he was remedying to this day).

The fifth? This time? There were no words to describe his fifth love other than this was his little girl, his daughter. When he held her for the first time in his arms he could not help but utter “Meri Sahiba.”

_My Sahiba_.

Sahiba had been the name they had chosen. Aman had wanted something strong and Karthik had wanted something that would honour his Punjabi roots.

_“I’d rather not remember my father” he had told Aman as they sat with a cup of chai and biscuits going over potential names. “But I loved Punjab with all my heart.”_

Sahiba Tripathi had come to this world, unloved and abandoned by her biological parents. Karthik vowed, to every god he knew, to Amitabh Bacchan himself, that her life would be filled with love and laughter. He didn’t want to let go of her and only relented when Aman reminded him that marriage and parenthood was a fifty-fifty deal. Thus Sahiba passed from the arms of one father too another and Karthik watched as Aman held their little girl against his chest, he watched as Aman smiled. He watched and he knew that a certain fear, a trepidation had entered Aman’s heart.

“What are you thinking?” 

“She’s so tiny.” Aman replied.

And Karthik understood then the full weight of responsibility that Aman felt. This was a tiny human, she came with her own tiny fingernails, her own little eyes, her own beating heart, her own mind, her own soul. And they were the ones who will be responsible for her. By god, he hoped they didn’t fuck this up.

“She’ll only get bigger.” Said Karthik jokingly. “Enjoy it while it lasts.”

That night Karthik lay with little Sahiba sound asleep on his chest and Aman curled by his side he felt at ease. Sahiba’s introduction to the Tripathi family had been as he had expected, loud, vibrant and full of love. Aman may have thought that having his face smashed with cake was unnecessary (“It’s not my birthday” he had protested, as frosting fell off of his face in chunks before being pelted with more cake by none other than Rajini herself) but Karthik though it was the perfect way to christen Sahiba’s coming and their own journey into parenthood.

Now Karthik placed a protective hand on Sahiba while drawing a sleepy Aman closer to him. He'll put her in her little cot soon, but for now, he wanted to stay like this, if only for a few more seconds. He felt so content that he didn’t even mind the fact that Sahiba was drooling all over his favourite shirt. Not at all. He had a family now, nothing else mattered.

Just like his grandmother's stories he tucked this memory away into his heart, where he hoped it would warm him when the days seemed dark and cold.


	3. Bonus: 11 Months Old

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know how many people will be reading this since like ya know, I literally finished this fic two weeks after the movie came out sorta meme. But I realised I never actually wrote any scenes with Sahiba as a baby. Inspiration hit when my baby cousin (technically it's my ex’s lil sister, we’re not related, but ya know he’s been bhai zoned or whatever) and I saw this cute as bib with something Kartik would definitely say to Sahiba and I thought why the fuck not (link to the pic below). Also found a pic of a stuffed gobi, also linked below.
> 
> Anyway I suppose this is like a return gift to all you lovely people who have gifted me something today and have been following my fics since ‘Arjun and Krishna Throughout the Ages’. TLILAL will always have a special place in my heart, mostly because of you guys. Also I suppose this is some sweet fluff to heal the pain that will be Ganglords (that story I am very afraid to write) and all the pain that is to come in The Glass Mosaic (I regret nothing). 
> 
> Anyway onto the bonus. I decided to write Sunaina POV for this one, bc I already had an equal number for Kartik and Aman (and ofc Sahiba is a baby she doesn’t really have a perspective). So for the the five or so people who read this. Let me know what you think <3

It had taken a while but in the end Sunaina had come to a realisation. Kartik was her son. Law and blood be damned. She had grown used to the idea that she would never have grandchildren. So used to it that she had even come to peace with it. So it had come as a surprise when her sons had called the family up one morning and told them about their decision to adopt a baby girl.

At first Sunaina had been sceptical. All her life she had been told that in order to raise a child well, a mother’s touch was needed. 

The facts simply were that Aman and Kartik were both men. They will be Fathers, yes, but there would be no mother between them. She kept this thought to herself however, she knew Aman would tell her that this kind of thinking was outdated. She had learned a lot from her two sons, but this aspect of parenthood was something she wanted to learn entirely on her own. 

This outdated thought was slowly leaving her. She could feel it. It had started when Sahiba first came into their lives. Tiny curly-haired, fast asleep in Kartik’s arms. Sunaina remembered being entranced by the little girl. She remembered thinking _I will be the best Dhadhi that ever lived._

That thought had culminated into now, the six of them, Aman, Karthik, Rajni, Shankar, Sahiba and Sunaina herself all walking down the aisles of their local convenience store in Delhi. She, Shankar and Rajni had moved in two months ago to help Kartik and Aman raise their little girl. Neither of them had managed to obtain leave from their respective jobs to look after her. Despite the abolition of Article 377 her sons still faced this kind of discrimination.

Sahiba was sitting in her pram (which Aman was pushing) playing around with her favourite blue teddy bear, giggling and smiling as Rajni made faces at her. 

At the sight of her beautiful little granddaughter, at her smile and the sound of her laughter Sunaina felt warmed. She wanted nothing more than to pick her out of the pram and cover her in kisses. Before she could do such a thing however, her eyes turned to Shankar and Kartik who were talking rather loudly.

She could still not believe the change that had come about in the relationship after the night they got drunk together. From hating each other to becoming almost the best of friends. Sunaina could not quite believe it. 

Right now Kartik was holding out a toy towards Shankar. On closer inspection Sunaina realised what it was. A plushie cauliflower plushie, complete with a two beady eyes, a smile and libs.

“Sahiba will love it.” implored Kartik.

“I’m sure she will prefer one of the other vegetables. A carrot for example.”

“Papa bro,” said Kartik, as was his habit. “We could dye it black.”

Shankar grimaced. The kaali gobi debacle was still, it seemed a sensitive spot. “I would rather you dye it rainbow.”

Kartik’s face lit up at the suggestion “Rainbow gobi. Papa you are a genius. Have you ever tried making a rainbow gobi? I think it would be very marketable.”

“It’s near impossible,” said Shankar.

Kartik pouted and Shankar sighed. 

“I will see what I can do,” said her husband.

Beside Sunaina, Aman chuckled watching his father cave into his husband’s demands. 

Kartik walked up to Sahiba and placed the gobi plushie in the pram. The little girl took an instant liking to it, promptly abandoning her teddy bear, and placing one of the limbs of her new toy in her mouth.

Sunaina was about to reprimand Sahiba. 

Though Sahiba was yet to say her first word, Sunaina found that the little girl understood with perfect clarity. But before she could do so, her attention was diverted by Kartik moving towards the various bibs that hung on one side of the aisle.

He drew one from the hanger and showed it to them all proudly. 

The bib said _Baby Bro._

“No,” came Aman’s first and definite response.

“It’s perfect,” argued Kartik.

Kartik had a habit of putting bro at the end of everything when he addressed someone. Shankar was Papa bro, Rajni was Bhenji Bro, Sunaina herself was Mummy bro, and most recently Sahiba had become Baby Bro. Aman was an entirely different story.

It reminded her again of her initial scepticism. It was more than them being two men raising a girl all by themselves. In her eyes, Kartik and Aman were still children. Moments like this only proved her right.

“I won’t allow it.” Said Aman.

“Please,” Kartik pouted again, his eyes growing wide. “She will love it.”

“She absolutely will not.”

“Please. Aman I swear I will-“

“Let him buy it,” interjected Rajni. 

Sunaina was glad for Rajni’s interjection. Kartik could be very convincing, in his own brash way. Though his enthusiasm was infectious she was not entirely sure it would be appropriate at a convenience store in the middle of the day with a dozen or so other people watching on.

“Don’t encourage him Goggle,” said Aman, though the thought of Kartik’s unsaid lewd suggestion was clearly on his mind. He visibly hesitated when he said the next words. “It’s still a no.”

Kartik ignored him and instead went to his daughter “It’s Sahiba’s choice.” He placed the bib in front of her. “What do you say to this Baby bro?”

Sahiba stopped mauling the stuffed gobi and looked up at her father. In a tiny little voice, as sweet and as high as wind chimes in the autumn breeze, she uttered her first word.

“Bro.”

For a while the five of them stood still not knowing what to make of this. Sunaina herself was not sure how to feel. She remembered the countless days when Kartik or Aman would incessantly ask Sahiba to say either ‘Bapu’ or ‘Papa’. Sunaina herself had tried to sneak in a few ‘Dhadhis’ everytime she was alone with Sahiba.

They stood for a moment in shock. As always Kartik was the first to react.

A slow smile spread across his face. Beautiful, broad and undeniably.He picked his little girl out of the pram and kissed her.

“Meri sherani,” she heard him say in Punjabi, in his moment of shock he reverted to his mother tongue. “Kya kamaal hai.”

Aman laughed and went to Kartik embracing and kissing both his husband and his daughter. It did not matter that it was technically not a proper word. It did not matter that she had not said, Bapu, Papa, Dada, Dhadhi or even Bhuaji. She had said something. And that was enough for them.

In the end they bought the gobi, a handful of dyes and the bib.

* * *

[reference for today's fic](https://hackedbyawriter.tumblr.com/post/626422753120206848/clue-for-todays-fic)


	4. Four Years Old

The next four years passed like a whirlwind, and under the steady discipline of Aman and the somewhat slipperytutelage of Karthik, Sahiba grew to be a fierce, clever, and somewhat devilish child. She was now half-asleep in Karthik’s arms, her fingers clutching his leather jacket, as they traveled on the early morning train to Allahabad. If these annual trips to the Tripathi family home had taught the three of them anything that was to catch the train on time.

Aman watched both of them dozing, Sahiba with her wild dark curls in disarray and Karthik with his head propped against the train window. In the fiery light of the rising sun, both father and daughter looked almost angelic, so much so that Aman could almost forgive them for swapping the contents of the salt and sugar containers when he was making his morning chai. Almost.

It was mid-morning when they arrived at Allahabad station and by then Sahiba was wide awake, a ball of furious energy as she walked with Aman and Karthik, holding both of their hands as they held on to their luggage, ecstatically proclaiming that she wanted a nose ring like Bapu (to save themselves the confusion of being called the same thing Aman was strictly Papa while Karthik was strictly Bapu). Karthik fully endorsed the idea but (most likely after Aman had shot him a glare) said that she would have to wait until she was at least sixteen before she made any such decision.

“I have earrings.” Sahiba protested.

That was true. She had practically begged to have her ears pierced and they had relented. She had cried a little at the pain but was more than happy to pick out her first pair of earrings (sparkling silver studs in the shape of stars). They had to draw the line at body piercings somewhere though. Parenting, it seemed, had more nuances, ambiguities and grey areas than the whole of the CS Lotus Case.

“Aren't you excited to see Goggle Bhua?” Asked Aman changing the subject, knowing she would easily forget the nose ring dilemma at the mention of Rajini.

Sahiba grinned at up Aman and he didn’t miss how she had practically started skipping as they were coming closer to the Tripathi family home.

Sahiba adored Rajini, the way Aman had adored Chaman chacha in his younger years. Where he had loved Chaman for his big laugh, his funny stories and his silly faces Sahiba loved Rajini for her humour, courage and no-nonsense attitude. This, Aman, had to admit, made him a little jealous considering that _he_ was her father. But all things said and done he didn’t mind it. For once, Rajini was truly happy and comfortable with herself and Sahiba had someone other than him and Karthik to look up to.

Last year Sahiba (as curious as ever) had pointed at Rajini’s sunglasses and asked: “Are you a spy?” At this Rajini had laughed, and for the first time (without being forced to or without having to prove a point) she took them off to reveal her bad eye. Sahiba had gasped with excitement and showered Rajini with a thousand questions (“Were you on a mission?” “Did you get shot at?” “Did you kill anyone?”) and Rajini (with the biggest brightest smile that Aman had ever seen since that ill-fated incident) answered each and every one of those questions. Aman had felt a strange warmth bloom in his chest. A feeling of both pride and contentment.

They arrived at the Tripathi’s soon enough. Shankar was the one to open the gate for them, as soon as it did Sahiba promptly let go of their hands and rushed into the arms of her grandfather, who despite the continuously deteriorating state of his back picked her up and twirled her around.

After Shankar’s acceptance of Karthik and Aman’s relationship, Aman knew he had given up any hope that he would ever have grandchildren of his own blood (a prospect he had been looking forward to for a long time). But with Sahiba a realisation had seemed to come over the old man, blood didn’t make family, hearts did.

Aman was sure Sunaina and Shankar loved Sahiba more than they ever loved him (their own son can you imagine?), they even let her eat ice cream for breakfast (“She’s at the growing age, Aman.” Sunaina would say. “Let her eat what she likes.” “You _never_ let me have ice cream for breakfast!”).

Soon enough Sunaina herself had arrived bestowing the three of them with kisses and asking them questions, about the trip, about their lives, just like how she used to when Aman would come home from college. Aman knew she had been experiencing the pain that a mother felt being separated from her child all over again, and he couldn’t help but feel a wave of gratitude.

His mother had been instrumental in Sahiba’s upbringing. In the first few months of Sahiba’s life with them, Sunaina had lived with Karthik and Aman indulging in the baby’s every whim when neither of them were there to do so. Even when she had gone back to Allahabad, it was her they called when Sahiba had caught a fever, when she had first started teething, or when they wanted advice on when they should change from baby formulas into something more solid. They even face-timed her when they realised Sahiba’s hair (curls more suited for a wild wood nymph than a four-year-old girl) would need to be managed and she had taught them how to braid. If it hadn’t been for her, they would have been completely lost or at the mercy of Google and Devika.

“I’m hungry,” complained Sahiba as they entered the home.

Sunaina turned accusingly to Aman “You’ve been starving her.” It wasn’t a question.

“She’s eaten,” said Aman remembering perfectly well that Karthik had bought them a box sweets on their way here because in Karthik’s words _fuck special occasions we should be able to eat gulab-jamuns whenever we want_. Sahiba certainly knew how to reap the benefits of the affection that everyone held for her.

“What did I tell you?” Said Sunaina turning to Karthik. “Mothers have hearts, fathers run on batteries.”

“You keep saying that,” muttered Shankar. “I’m not sure you know what it means anymore.”

Sunaina turned her withering glare in the direction of her husband, who instantly gained a peculiar interest in the potted plant that stood by the window sill. Luckily that was the moment when Rajini, Keshav, Chaman and Champa decided to collectively come over and greeted them.

Sahiba rushed forward to Rajini and practically threw herself at her. Once Rajini had picked her up and heldher Sahiba seized Rajini’s glasses putting them over her own eyes. Rajini seemed surprised at first but then her expression turned joyful.

“You look like a spy,” she told Sahiba.

“Just like you?” Asked the little girl.

“Yes,” said Rajini, her good eye twinkling with mirth. Sahiba whooped with joy, thrusting both her arms up in celebration

“Aren’t you going to say hello to your favourite chacha?” Asked Keshav in mock disappointment.

“No.” Said Sahiba who then proceeded to stick her tongue out. Keshav returned the gesture.

Sahiba and Keshav’s relationship was a strangely strong one. On the outset, it was mostly friendly teasing from Keshav’s side and disobedience from Sahiba. But she was the only person who was allowed to go on his iPad. Aman knew Keshav even had a folder titled ‘Sahiba’s Games’ (the little girl had only just started to learn how to spell her name, had shown this to Aman excitedly having finally recognised the letters on their last trip to Allahabad). And Sahiba knew that she could depend on Keshav for extra sweets. They made a strange and entertaining duo and if Aman was, to be honest, he would happily watch a sitcom with just the two of them.

Champa squished both of Sahiba’s cheeks. While her face was obscured by Rajini’s glasses Aman knew that his daughter was frowning. She was never happy at having he cheeks squished, but she endured it with as much dignity as her little body could muster. Chaman came forward ruffled her already tangled hair (either he Karthik should have braided it before they came here, Aman realised) before offering to help bring their luggage (two large suitcases and Sahiba’s Peppa Pig backpack) to the guest room.

“I want to take a swim.” Said Sahiba.

She meant in the Ganges, as the holy river flowed behind their family home. Aman's own first memory had been the waves of the sacred river lapping at his feet as he slowly waded into it. He remembered how the muted winter sun had set the river awash in a pale golden glitter, and he remembered how despite the cold he kept wading into it, because in it he felt a calling and a calmnessthat no temple or stone statue had ever given him. He felt the closest to God submerged beneath the waves than in any other place in the world.

They didn’t have a pool at their home in Delhi other than the public one (which Karthik detested) so Sahiba liked to savor the swimming in the river at every opportunity. Aman suspected that if he let her she would probably spend every waking hour in the Ganges. At least that way he didn’t have to force her to take a bath.

“I thought you said you were hungry.” Said Aman giving his daughter a pointed look.

“I’m not anymore.” She protested. “Please Papa.”

“Let her go, Aman,” said Sunaina as indulgent as ever. “She can eat later.”

He was about to protest the words “Y _ou never let me go unless I had eaten all my food”_ were at his tongue, but he swallowed them and smiled instead and nodded. Perhaps it was thing, for people being far more lenient on their grandchildren than they had ever been on their children.

Soon Aman, Karthik, Sahiba, Rajini, and Keshav were wading in the shallows of the river. Sahiba was mounted on Aman’s shoulders clutching his hair, laughing as Karthik splashed water on to the two of them. To Aman, her laughter was one most beautiful sounds in the world. That mingled with the bright sunshine and the deep blue of the river made his feel...something.

Once again he felt that calling, that calmness. He knew that there were those who would look upon them, playing laughing and joking in the sacred river and call it sacrilege. But he felt in this moment he was the closest to God than he had ever been.


	5. 5 Years Old

As far a Karthik was concerned Sahiba’s first day of school had gone very well. He knew Aman thought so too but was loathe to admit it in front of the school principal, Mrs. Kumar. She was a tall straight-backed woman of sixty, who wore rectangular glasses and styled her hair in a severe bun. They were sitting in the her office, with another set of parents (who introduced themselves as Aanya and Rahul) waiting for Sahiba and the other couple’s son, Arjun, to come in.

As the principal, drolled on about school integrity and whatnot, Karthik gave Aman an amused smile. Aman responded with the barely noticeable roll of his eyes but otherwise kept (or at least pretended to keep) his full attention on the principal.

It was at that moment that Sahiba herself entered the room along with another little boy who seemed about the same age as her. Her curls (which Aman had strenuously managed to braid that morning) were loose and as wild and as tangled as ever. Karthik knew it would be up to him who to take out all the snags and knots, a task he knew neither he nor Sahiba would enjoy.

“Would you like to tell your parents why you are here?” Asked the Principal.

Karthik and Aman had already inferred some of it by the principal’s lecture on integrity, hence their amusement. It was evident that the two children had gotten into a fight, however forcing them to confess was probably some sort of strange disciplinary measure, in order to induce a child into guilty submission. The teachers, however, did not know Sahiba very well. In all her five years she had never known guilt or submissiveness, in fact, even now there was a fierce gleam in her eyes, like those of a lioness cornered by a pack of wolves, mixed perhaps with a little fear, anticipating her punishment.

One thing was certain though, she wasn’t going down without a fight.

“I bit him,” Sahiba announced proudly.

Only now did Karthik look at the offended party. Arjun did in fact have a bandaged arm. Her bite had been sharp, it seemed.

“Why did you bite him?” Asked the principal.

“Bapu said that teeth were weapons of mass destruction.” She said with an ironic amount of innocence.

Karthik felt the blood rush to his cheeks, he didn’t have to look to know that Aman was both barely holding in his laughter and trying to shoot him angry glares. Karthik had meant it jokingly when he had told her about teeth being weapons this morning while preparing all their lunches for the day (he had under the tutelage of Sunaina improved considerably in the area of cooking). He hadn’t truly thought she would apply it. He cleared his throat.

“She wouldn’t have done this without reason,” He told Mrs. Kumar, mustering his composure, he turned Sahiba. “What did he do?”

“This _kutta (dog)_ was pulling my hair.” She said pointing an accusing finger at him.

No wonder her hair was in disarray when Aman had specifically instructed her not to take out her braids (no matter how wilful she could be, Sahiba always listened to Aman’s specific instructions). Mrs. Kumar was about to chide her for her language but for the first time the boy, Arjun, spoke up. “You’re a _kutti_ , you’re the one who did the biting!”

As soon as the word, _bitch_ , flew out of the little Arjun’s mouth there was a stillness in the room.

_No_ Karthik thought, furious. _She’s not a bitch. She’s a sherani. A lioness._

Arjun’s father Rahul now livid, made a move to chastise his son, but as per usual Sahiba beat him to it.

“Don’t you know how to speak nicely? Why did you pull my hair for then?” Sahiba countered. “Why don’t you tell your Mummi and Papa why?”

To this Arjun had no answer, he stood stunned and mouth agape. Karthik knew then and there that there was no reason other than simple meanness and for a moment he felt a certain vexation towards the little boy. But when he saw that Arjun couldn’t meet his father’s eyes, and was barely holding back tears, all of Karthik’s annoyance faded away.

He remembered another little boy, back in Punjab, so terrified of his father the blacksmith that he too couldn’t meet his eyes. No one should fear their parents like that, no matter what they’ve done. Karthik smiled at him.

“I think that we’re making the situation bigger than it should be.” Said Karthik, then he faced all the adults assembled. When he met Aman’s eyes he felt the old rush of energy and fearlessness sweep through him. It was strange how he still made him feel that way, after so many years. “Kids fight, they learn from it and they grow, as long as they have the right people to guide them through it.”

“Are you suggesting that our methods in disciplining them are wrong?” Asked the principal. “You’re daughter’s act of retaliation was violent.”

_Damn this school’s bloody integrity and discipline_. Thought Karthik. Apparently Aman had thought the same thing.

“With all due respect ma’am,” Aman started. “While she may have been violent, and I would like to apologise for the injury, does she not have a right to fight back? Or would you rather she sit there meekly having her hair pulled. What next? Would you have someone tear her dress off and expect her to let them?”

“She should learn to tolerate it.” The principal said firmly. “She will being facing this kind of behavior all her life, she can’t fight it all.”

The principal had stiffened, with an air of someone who had been facing ‘this kind of behavior’ all her life.

“Had they been two boys we wouldn’t be having a conversation about _tolerance_.” Said Aman. “But I suppose that’s our culture, isn’t it? It starts from here Ma’am, with hair pulling and it ends with women dead in alleyways, lit on fire and….all those things that make the headlines. If her having to fight it all will break this cycle, then I will gladly stand with her.”

Aman wasn’t good with words, but he had his moments. This was one of them.

“Madam, bro,” smiling Karthik chimed in for no reason other than for the heck of it. “You need to stop living in this old mindset. _Seth lahi teek nahi (it's no good for your health)_.”

The principal eyed them carefully “This is what happens when a girl has no mother figure…”

“I don’t _want_ a mother!” Exclaimed Sahiba. “I love my Bapu and Papa!”

It took a moment for Karthik to process what his daughter had said, but when he did, it hit him like a gentle rush of warm summer rain, the kind that seeps into your skin, relaxes your shoulders and puts you at ease. He and Aman had always been worried about how she will respond when she found out that having two fathers was not the norm. They had wondered how they would tackle it when Sahiba would inevitably come up to them and ask “Why don’t I have a mother?”. It seemed they never had to worry about it at all.

“Perhaps, we are looking at this wrong” It was Aanya, Arjun’s mother, she gave both Karthik and Aman a smile. “Sahiba would not have bitten him had Arjun not pulled her hair. Perhaps its time we taught our sons to behave. Arjun you should apologise.”

Whether it was out of fear of genuine remorse, Arjun turned to Sahiba and proffered his hand “I’m sorry I pulled your hair.”

Sahiba studied him, analyzing him with a strange cold calculation that Karthik had seen whenever she was about to make a decision. She nodded before taking his hand and saying “I’m sorry too. Is your arm okay?”

“Yeah.”

The two shook hands.

Aman got up, too anyone else watching it may have looked like he was calm and collected. But Karthik knew him well. He knew Aman was seething with dangerous rage. If Aman had been born king of ancient times, it would have been the rage that toppled dynasties, destroyed armies and moved mountains.

“I believe we are done,” said Aman, with that he walked out of the office.

Slowly but surely everyone but the principal followed suite. Once they were outside, Karthik noticed that Rahul’s expression was still livid. Still, on a high of daring, dashing bravery he went up to the other father.

“Speak nicely to your boy for me,” he told him, remembering the last time he had something like this was to Shankar. He had ended that with a dick joke, somehow he did not think it would be appropriate here. “He’s very young and still has much to learn. Hitting him or chastising him will only make it worse. Trust me I know.”

Rahul seemed like he was about to tell Karthik that he had no right to tell him how to discipline his child, but something changed on his face. A flash of anguish, that turned into one of realisation. Karthik wondered whether Rahul was thinking of his own father.

Rahul nodded grimly before leading his son away to the car where his wife was waiting.

When Karthik, Aman, and Sahiba got to their own car, Karthik noted that Sahiba wasn’t speaking ecstatically as she usually did. She was looking at Aman from time to time, it was almost as if she sensed Aman’s rage, but did not yet realise it wasn’t directed at her.

“What’s wrong?” Karthik asked her. “You’re unusually quiet.”

“Am I going to punished?” She asked. Usually, punishment meant no playing on her tablet for a week.

Aman’s grim facade fell away as he laughed and started engine “No, god no.” He said. “You did the right thing, and I’m proud, promise me you’ll always fight back.”

“I promise.”

Karthik reached out behind to where Sahiba was sitting in the back seat, once she clutched his hand, he squeezed it and said “She’s our little _sherani_. I don't think she’ll ever stop fighting back.”


	6. 6 Years Old

Strangely enough, Sahiba and Arjun were inseparable after that whole incident, even more so when Karthik and Aman had found out that Arjun and his family actually lived two streets away. Arjun was the first person Sahiba would go to when she was bored and needed someone to play with. He was the first person she would pick as her partner in school projects or sports teams. He was also the first person she had written an invitation to for her sixth birthday party.

During her first year at school, Sahiba had been invited to many birthday parties. In the end, she had asked both Karthik and Aman if they could hold their own, “It would only have to be a little one.” She had said eyes wide, neither of them were willing to say no.

There was no reason not to, their house was spacious enough now that they both had secure jobs. Of course like all previous birthdays the whole Tripathi family would come down to celebrate. The only difference was this time Sahiba wanted to invite half her grade. Both of them had been worried about whether the other parents would be willing to send their kids here, though the law had recognised their love almost over eight years ago that didn’t mean public perception had necessarily changed for the better. In the end, Karthik had declared it didn’t matter as long as Sahiba was happy. Aman thoroughly agreed. He would go through thousands upon thousands of insults and embarrassments if it meant Sahiba’s happiness.

The organisation for the birthday party was a nightmare. Surprisingly it was Devika who had turned out to be the unlikely hero, helping them take down RSVPs and deciding the best places to get decorations, snacks and Sahiba’s dress. She had always been highly organised during their college years and for once Karthik didn’t make fun of it.

When the day finally arrived, Aman had been woken in the very early hours of the morning, by none other than Sahiba herself, who had climbed onto the bed he and Karthik shared, and was now treating both it and her parents like they were her personal jumping castle. The dregs of sleepiness lay heavy on Aman’s eyelids as he regarded her, a little puzzled at the fact that the sun wasn’t up. Karthik groaned in his sleep beside him and turned around bleary-eyed when he noted Sahiba he shot up and gathered the sheets more securely around him.

“What are you doing here?” He furtively.

“It’s morning.” She said. “It’s my birthday!”

They hadn’t anticipated this. The night before they had gone to bed they had set their alarms to 5:00am so that this exact situation could be avoided. They had even locked the door to their room. They had underestimated Sahiba’s excitement apparently, as well as her lock picking skills. Aman turned to the alarm clock on the bedside table and grimaced. It was 3:39am to the dot, meaning he and Karthik had gotten at most two and a half hours of sleep after a night of the decorating the house and well…other things. He wished neither of them had caved to each other’s much-needed touch, but he couldn’t truly bring himself to regret it.

“Sahiba it’s too early, go back to sleep.” Aman said to her.

“Can I sleep here with you?” She asked her eyes wide and pleading.

When Sahiba had been little she had a habit of sleeping in this bed. As she grew older she eventually had her own room, but there were still nights when she would come back here, her favourite pink teddy bear in hand and crawl between the sheets, snuggling herself into a comfortable position between them. But now…well…it wasn’t entirely ideal.

“Of course,” said Karthik, unable to begrudge her anything for long. “But you need to get me a glass of water from the kitchen, I’m very thirsty.”

Unquestioningly she jumped off the bed and raced to the kitchen. They had a total of two minutes to be presentable before she came back. Aman leaped out of bed and closed the door.

“How the hell did she open the lock?” He asked Karthik.

Karthik shrugged but there was a tinge of guilt in the way he held himself that made Aman suspect Karthik had taught her how to do it. But before he could say anything Karthik went to the drawer and took out two boxer shorts at random, throwing one at Aman’s face. By the time Sahiba returned, they were halfway decent. Karthik accepted the glass of water graciously kissing his daughter's forehead before he drained it.

For all her excitement Sahiba slept like a rock, by morning she was well-rested, while Karthik and Aman were both dead-tired from their interrupted sleep. It wasn’t a great sign since their day hadn’t even begun, but they put on a brave face and hoped for the best. The first thing they had to do was to make sure that the decorations were still all in order (which they thankfully were) before they finally decided to wake Sahiba up and get her ready.

Sahiba, Devika and Karthik had picked out a frock for this occasion. Neither of them had let Aman on into the decision which was fine by him (“Bapu knows clothes better than you” Sahiba had declared and it was true). It looked beautiful on her. It was light green and ethereal, with wildflowers embroidered onto it. 

The first people to arrive were Devika and Ravi, they didn’t have children of their own, they didn’t want any, but they both held an affection for Sahiba, and Devika knew how to do elaborate hairstyles which, both Karthik and Aman were grateful for.

“Kutte (dog),” it was Devika’s favourite greeting for Karthik ever since their botched attempt in helping her elope. She was kinder to Aman and Sahiba hugging them both, even kissing Sahiba’s cheek before handing her a present.

Once their greetings were done with Sahiba held Devika’s hand and took her to the living room to show her a rather impressive collection of flower crowns. The two spent their time picking out which one matched her dress the best and which hairstyle would complete the look.

Aman went to check whether they had enough snacks for the day, while doing so he watched as Karthik and Devika exchanged biting remarks as she did the little girl’s hair while Ravi sat by amused. Looking at Ravi’s contentment with Karthik and Devika’s closeness, Aman couldn’t help but compare it to a time when he had been jealous of Devika and her relationship with Karthik.

_It had been in their first few months of college and Aman was only just trying to figure out his feelings for his roommate and then good friend Karthik. He didn’t understand why he felt so warm whenever Karthik smiled, or why his heart stopped every time he looked into his eyes. He didn’t understand why his pulse quickened, or why he got excited whenever he was coming back to the apartment they shared after he finished his classes. He didn’t even understand, the dumbass that he was, why strange tingles ran down navel every time he saw Karthik in any state of undress or why he loved talking about him to Rajini so much._

_No that wasn’t right, it wasn’t that he didn’t understand, he’d known perfectly well what was happening, he had tried to suppress, tried to put in a context where it did not belong. Just like he had been doing to himself for his whole life._

_It all changed when Karthik brought Devika to their apartment and had nervously introduced her as his girlfriend, Aman could have sworn his whole world had plunged into the icy depths of the Antarctic as he shook hand with her and introduced himself. That was when he realised he had been in love with Karthik the whole time._

_Anytime Devika had been with Karthik in their apartmentAman couldn’t bear to be anywhere near. He made excuses upon excuses to avoid the reality of his impossible love and the ache in his chest. Every time he looked at Karthik, it didn’t matter what context, it felt like he was stealing away moments and memories that belonged to someone else. He couldn’t even listen to certain songs or rewatch Sholay, which had been the movie that had truly cemented their frienship_ _._

_He spent his days in classes and his nights in libraries or wondering the dreary streets of Delhi, If this was the truth, the price he paid for coming to terms with himself, for putting his feelings in their true context, he did not want it. He had prayed to every god to take it from him. But they hadn’t._

_In the months that passed, he would go for days without seeing Karthik or entering his apartment. On the rare nights when he did drop by it would be to get a textbook, or to sleep or shower. One of those nights when Aman had come back Karthik had been sitting on the couch. He was alone, seemingly in a daze, almost as if he had been waiting for him. As soon as Aman saw him he gave him a strained smile, pretendeding to go to his room to get something. Ignoring him while he walked back out of their apartment._

_He had decided to go to the library again, perhaps make a few more notes on the hypothalamus. He did not feel like walking though, so he hailed a cab and got in._

_"Delhi library," he told the driver._

_"I'll pay extra for the longest route," came a voice beside him._

_To his surprised Aman found that Karthik had also gotten into the cab. Aman had been so absorbed in his misery that he had not even noticed that Karthik had been following him let alone sitting by him. The driver shrugged and started off._

_“Did I do something wrong?” Karthik had asked after a while._

_Aman stared straight ahead at the back of the driver's head. Wanting to tell Karthik that he loved him and that it hurt to be away. He wanted to tell him that couldn’t do this, but fear had gripped him and frozen those words at his chest. Instead, he said:_

_“No, why do you ask?”_

_“I barely see you nowadays,” Karthik’s voice came out low and trembling as if he were revealing something or a part of himself that he dared not reveal before.”I miss you.” He said finally. “I miss us.”_

_Aman had caught on to the yearning in the last three words, he caught on to the way that those dark eyes, gleaming in the neon lights of night time Delhi, seemed ready to devour him. Aman had considered two things, the first was that Karthik shared his feelings, the second was that Karthik knew how he felt and was going to take advantage of it. But he had dismissed both of these thoughts. Karthik was his friend, nothing more, nothing less._

_“I’m sorry,” he told Karthik. “I was busy, I thought you would not notice.”_

_“Not notice?” Karthik echoed. “Aman you’re my friend, one the best.”_

_“I only meant that with Devika…”_

_Karthik had let out a strange laugh then. A peal of laughter that was as wild as tangled brambles and as mad as fire. Aman did not know what to make of it until Karthik said:_

_“We broke up.”_

_“When?” Aman asked._

_“A week ago. I…” Karthik stopped himself from saying any more._

_Aman knew he shouldn’t have felt happy but he did. The guilty thrillran through his body and it felt…pleasurable._

_“Why?” He asked, feigning concern. “You seemed happy.”_

_Kartik gave him an ironic smile “I don’t love her, not in the way she wanted.”_

_Karthik paused, he had seemed almost nervous. But no that wasn’t Karthik, Karthik was fearless and passionate in everything he did. He couldn’t possibly be nervous._

_“I’m gay.” Karthik finally said._

_It seemed to Aman that all the world's blessings had rained down on him at once. There was hope yet for his impossible love. At that moment all of Karthik’s fearlessness had been siphoned off to Aman. He turned around and pulled Karthik in, kissing him softly. He wasn’t actually sure how kissing worked, it was his first kiss after all, but he tried his best for the most of two-seconds before he pulled away._

_“Sorry.” He said to a stunned Karthik. “I…if you don’t…”_

_But Karthik had cupped Aman’s face in hands, burying his fingers into his hair, effectively shutting him up. He grinned, the type of grin that manifested through his whole body._

_“Shut up, you didn’t even give me the chance to kiss you back.” He looked Aman up and down. “If you’re going to kiss me next time make sure it’s for more than two two-seconds yeah?”_

_“What?”_

_This time it was Karthik who kissed him, slowly, passionately. For the first time in his life, Aman felt what it was like to kiss and to be kissed. He didn't care that they were in the back of a dingy cab, he didn't care for the driver's disgusted looks. It had felt nothing short of the word glorious._

Aman watched the two them now and wanted to laugh at his younger self for feeling threatened by her or even for feeling jealous. Aman loved her now, Devika had become almost like family to him.

Once Sahiba’s hair was done (a series of intricate braids that Aman couldn’t figure out for the life of him) she twirled around in her dress before trying to be helpful in the kitchen. Eventually, she was regulated to the living room so she wouldn’t make a mess of things. The next people to arrive were the Tripathi’s themselves showering Sahiba with yet more gifts and love. (“Mummi you spoil her” Aman had said when Shankar presented her with a tricycle. “Someone has to do it.” Sunaina had said “We all know that isn’t going to be you.”)

Finally the first of her friends came. To no one’s surprise, it was Arjun along with his parents. And though afterward many of her friends and their parents arrived Arjun and Sahiba never left each other’s side. If Sahiba had been a Queen, Arjun would have been her guard, her right-hand man, her advisor, her confidant and her second-in-command.

“We should marry them to each other.” Said Karthik, with a plate of samosas in hand, he was eyeing Arjun who now sat at Sahiba’s right while the children played pass the parcel. They had hired an entertainer to take care of the games because quite frankly the idea of trying to entertain twenty-something kids was daunting. They were already busy as it was.

“We don’t even know if she even likes men, or if she even wants to marry.” Said Aman, as rational as ever. “Even if she does how do we know she would want _him_?”

“Hmm, you’re right.” Said Karthik. “Besides his name isn’t Mirza.”

“Karthik, not everything is a ballad.”

“You’re right but it can be.”

They barely had time to shovel the samosas down before Aman realised it was time to cut the cake. He had spent hours on it.

Devika had suggested that they get a ready-made one, but Aman knew his baking and he knew it well. The ready-made ones tasted like sweetened sponges with bland sugar paste. Whereas this cake was made from chocolate, fresh rich cream, homemade frosting and the memories of Sahiba and Karthik begging to lick the spoon. Besides, it was a tradition for him to make the cake every year for her birthday. He’d be damned if he didn’t continue.

He took it out of the fridge and inspected it. Pleased to find the frosting was still perfect he then proceeded to place six candles at the top, then as an afterthought, he added one more for good luck. At that moment Karthik came in.

“Is it ready?” Karthik asked.

“Yeah,”

“Alright, I’ll take it out for you.” He flexed his biceps and puffed up his chest. “ _Lohar ka munda_ , (son of a blacksmith) remember.”

Aman relented (it was a big cake after all) and just like that with a quick peck on the cheek Karthik took the cake while Aman followed behind. All seemed to go off without a hitch, that was until the cake was actually being eaten. While the parents were complimenting Aman on his baking skills, Sahiba had found another means to entertain herself.

Sahiba had grabbed Arjun’s piece and smashed it against his face. Arjun returned this gesture with an equally savage one of his own. Where Aman had run away from the tradition of smashing one’s face with cake Sahiba had embraced it with open arms.

In the end, Aman wasn’t sure whether he should be pleased with the riotous laughter or to be frustrated by the eventual mess. He decided to let both emotions co-exist side by side. After all the human heart wasn’t a simple thing.


	7. 7 Years Old

It was nearing night and Karthik sat bleary-eyed in front of his laptop. Aman wasn’t home yet, having some stupid teacher’s meeting and Sahiba was doing her homework in her room (or at least pretending to). It had been a long day at work and his manuscript wasn’t getting any closer to being finished (neither was his latest article on the effect of hyper-masculinity in Bollywood action flicks but that could wait). He hoped to one day quit his job, work full time at home and give his full concentration to writing, which would also give him more flexibility with Sahiba, meaning that Devika or Arjun’s parents wouldn’t have to babysit her. Of course that all hinged on the success of his first book of poetry, which was stubbornly refusing to be finished. Especially this particular poem.

He loved stories, he loved poetry, he loved writing. He couldn’t go to sleep without reading something, anything (a thing that both amused and exasperated Aman). He had devoured words as a child, both the words of his grandmother and then when she died, words from books, from newspapers, from scraps of paper anything.

When he had been younger and no one was around, he would sometimes walk, stick in hand, to the outskirts of his village where the trees grew tall and close his eyes. He would take a deep breath and in that breath, he'd feel magic in his bones, he'd feel his muscle shift, his back would straighten. In his mind's eye, he would become a warrior prince, garbed in gleaming armor and rich finery. Instead of a stick in hand, he would have a bloodied sword. And his voice would boom out, low and deep, a warning, a battle cry a herald of doom. He’d felt powerful then but right now words were being a damned bitch.

As he stared blankly back at his laptop screen with the unfinished, he heard a crash in the kitchen.

Shocked Karthik, turned swiftly in the direction of the kitchen, banging his knee against the study table in the process. He let out a stifled groan as he got up and made his way to the kitchen wondering what on earth could have happened.

He was greeted by the sight of Sahiba standing on a chair positioned to reach the higher shelves on the pantry. She was almost in tears, with broken jars spread all over the kitchen floor, the spices and herbs that had been in those jars, now arrayed almost artfully on the tiles. 

“Are you hurt?” He asked her. There were tears in her eyes and more than anything he hoped that she hadn’t cut herself.

She shook her head before bursting into tears “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

Karthik, relieved, navigated his way through the new treacherous landscape of the kitchen, he picked her off the chair he held in his arms as she sobbed.

“It’s okay. Everything is okay. Don’t cry.” He cooed stroking the thick mane of black curls as he carried her over to the kitchen counter and sat her atop of it, he looked into her little face and gave her a comforting smile. “Okay, I’m going to close my eyes and count to ten. When I open them you better be smiling very big or I’m going to tickle you. Ready?”

He wasn’t sure it would work this time, but so far every time he used this method he had been foolproof.

He closed his eyes “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten!”

When he opened his eyes, Sahiba had stopped crying and was giving her bravest attempt at a big smile.

“Hmm, not big enough.” He commented to which Sahiba’s smile grew wider.

A devilish grin was Sahiba’s only warning before Karthik started to tickle her. This time when tears came out of her eyes it was because she was laughing. When the mirth had died down the little girl asked:

“What about the mess?”

“Look we’ll clean this all up before Papa gets home, and we’ll buy new jars. What happened?”

Sahiba grew abashed before mumbling “I was trying to get the cookies.”

Karthik almost laughed. After Sahiba had eaten a whole packet in one day, Aman had set a stricter ban on cookies than Indira Gandhi’s curfew back in the 80s. One cookie a day, he had declared, or Sahiba might need dentures like her grandfather. Aman had even placed the cookie jar on the highest shelf.

“Alright, you know what? After you and I clean this up, we’re going to have three big cookies each and some bournvitaafter dinner.”

God knows they both needed it. Sahiba lit up at that notion. So both of them cleared the mess and by both of them it was mostly Karthik while Sahiba pointed out missed spots on her throne of high, he wasn’t going to let her anywhere near the glass. After that, the two of them ate their dinner and then sat in the living room with a cool glass of bournvita and three big cookies each.

“Bapu, tell me a story.”

Karthik grinned “Alright then. _Ek si raja. Ek si rani. Dhonho margey. Khatam kahani._ ” (There was a king and a queen, they both died. The End.)

“Not that stupid story, a proper one.”

Karthik’s considered. There were many stories he could tell her, each as colourful and as brilliant as the next. Yet somehow his tongue, his damnable tongue, ignored them all and started crafting one of his own. He told her the story of him and Aman. Of course not truly, it was dressed up in rich veils of sorcery, warriors, cruel kings, castle ruins and times long gone. But he told her nonetheless, hoping one day he could tell her all of it.

Later at night when he put her to bed and wished a goodnight, he felt a renewed sense of inspiration. This time when he went back to his computer screen he lost sense of time and space. He wrote, as he had never written before and for the first time in many months, he was happy with his poem.

At that very moment, he heard the front door open.

Aman had just come in from a long day of arguing points of the syllabus with the other high school teachers. He loved teaching, he loved the children and he loved to teach them to think beyond the confines put down by society. He loved most of all those little moments when he could see a spark ignite in their eyes, a spark that lit the fire of brilliance. But sometimes these bloody teacher meetings made him lose his mind enough to want to quit (not that he ever would).

He was so caught up in the air of the meeting that he was surprised to find Karthik at the kitchen table jubilant with a big smile on his face as he looked up at Aman walking into the room.

“I thought you would be asleep” Aman remarked.

“I’m not but Sahiba is,” Karthik replied. “Did you eat?”

“Yes, yes, they don’t hold afternoon meetings without providing food.” Aman then grimaced thinking about the actual meeting itself.

Karthik laughed at his expression “Tell me about it.”

“Let me kiss Sahiba goodnight first. I’ll be back.”

Aman placed his bag on the kitchen counter and headed to her room. The little girl was sound asleep. Though she continually said she was a big girl now and could do things for herself, she still went to sleep with her pink teddy bear that she had had since she was a baby. Aman sat by her bed and leaned over kissing her forehead softly so as not to wake her. Doing so he walked quietly out of her room back to the kitchen where Karthik sat with an almost dreamy expression on his face.

“You seem rather happy today,” Aman remarked.

“You don’t.” Said Karthik.

“Tell me about your day.”

“You first.”

So Aman started on a tirade that could have rivaled any of Cicero’s, about the stupidity of the school’s education system and the stupidity of the government but most of the stupidity of the teachers. He ended it with a sigh.

“Well, at least the students like _you_?” Said Aman.

“Me?” Karthik asked. “No, this meeting has killed your brain cells. _You’re_ the teacher, remember, not me.”

“No I’m being serious, remember how you came in class to bring me my coffee the day before, well today one of my seniors came up to me today and said ‘your husband is so much cooler than you’ and another asked where you got your tattoos done.”

“Did you tell them?”

Aman gave him an incredulous look, to which Karthik responded with a grin.

“Alright, now you tell me about your day.”

“I finished it.” Said Karthik.

“Finished what?”

“My poem! The one that's been bugging for months…”

Aman couldn’t help but smile at that. He knew how hard Karthik had been working at it, how difficult it had been for him to manage it all, work, looking after Sahiba and writing. But here it was complete.

Aman also couldn’t help but lean forward, pressing his lipsagainst Karthik’s. His mouth tasted sweet and chocolatey, almost as if…

Aman pulled away “Did you eat the coo-”

Before he could finish Karthik took Aman’s face in his hands and kissed him with renewed desperation. If anyone had asked Aman at that moment what his name was he probably would not have known.

After the initial shock Aman’s fingers found their purpose, they ran through his husband’s hair before sliding them down to trace the line of his jaw, down to his neck and the collar of his shirt, melting deeper into the kiss, as he did so. Karthik hadn’t changed from his work clothes into something more comfortable, which was fine by Aman, somehow the process of slowly unbuttoning a shirt and savouring the skin beneath enticed him.

Besides he loved it when Karthik begged.

When their lips parted from each other, it was only because Aman found more of an interest in Karthik’s neck. His kisses intermingled with the graze of teeth and tongues leaving angry red marks in their wake, as his hands went up to unbutton Karthik’s shirt. One mustn’t assume that Karthik’s hands were idle through all this, in fact, they had slipped through the waistband of Aman’s pants and were working in ways that never ceased to amaze Aman.

“Bed?” Karthik requested, breathless.

“No,” said Aman, dragging him by his (now fully unbuttoned) shirt to the living room. The bedroom was too far away and he needed this. Now.

Soon their clothes were strewn haphazardly across the room. Once again Aman was reminded of what worship truly meant. All the fervent zealousness practiced over stone idols could not compare to the way they worshipped each other.

By the end of it, they were a mass of entwined limbs. Two breathless bodies and one glowing soul, lying on the carpeted floor of the living room.Karthik pressed his forehead against Aman’s and closed his eyes before he suddenly opened them again, a slight frown forming on his face.

“What’s wrong?” Asked Aman.

“Sahiba broke the spice jars today, trying to get the cookies.”

Aman gave start “Is she okay? Was she hurt?” He sat up and glared at Karthik angrily. “ _Abbe saale_ , (bloody bastard) you tell me this now?”

Karthik held up his hands in surrender as he too now sat up “She’s fine, I promise.” Said Karthik “We’ll need to buy new jars though.”

“You’re worried about the jars?!”

Suddenly it hit him and Aman would be lying if he said he didn’t felt a little hurt. He remembered when he was about to ask Karthik if they had eaten the cookies, and had been kissed so hard he swore he saw stars. Had all this been a ploy to distract him? To mellow him? Did Karthik not yet understand he didn’t need mellowing? He too had been young once and he too had once broken a jar. His father Shankar, had shouted and lectured so hard, talking about how much the jar had cost them that Aman had been afraid to go into the kitchen for a whole year.

Aman took Karthik’s face in his hands and drew him closer so that their foreheads once again touched.

“Karthik?” He asked. “Do you really think so little of me?”

“You know I don’t.”

“Then, listen to me now and listen to me carefully.” He said. “I may be stricter than you are and yes I can be cheap…but…look. I can buy more jars, I can’t but another you or another Sahiba. Do you understand?”

He was answered with a soft grateful kiss from Karthik when they pulled away Karthik’s grin could have rivaled the god of mischief himself “Good, now can you please get me my copy of the Mahabharata.”

“What? You want me to walk out naked?”

“Yes”


	8. 8 Years Old

Karthik hadn’t properly allowed himself to think about his father since he first started college, not truly, especially not since his new life with Aman and now with Sahiba. Sure the old memories would creep back, in dreams and sometimes in real life. But he preferred to pretend his father did not exist. So it came as a shock when he received a message request on Facebook from his older brother Harpreet Singh. It read: _Come back to Hoshiarpur. Father is dead. His funeral is this week._

It was short and to the point, just like Hari had always been. Karthik had been sitting with Sahiba and Arjun (who’s parents were both working overtime today), helping them both with their homework when he received the message. As soon as he saw the name Harpreet Singh pop up in his notifications his heart had stilled.

He was thrown back to those old memories, of playing kabaddi in the dust, of fighting with both fists and words, of laughing, of playing Mario with his brother that precious day in the arcade at Patiala all those years ago.

But he also rememberedthe way Hari had stood by, silent, as their father had beaten the hot iron rods onto his back. After that their relationship hadn’t quite had the same ease and playfulness. Everything they did had become a formality. Even their last goodbyes. Once he had imagined that a life without Hari would be miserable, but by the time he went off to college, he had been relieved.

A certain rage now started to run through his body. A rage that came from a place of loneliness, fear, and abandonment. The last time he had felt this rage was at the train station when Shankar had kicked him out of Rajini’s wedding. But a rage far older than that.

It was the one he had felt as his father and brother had left him alone the room, his back searing with pain, bleeding. He was there again, fifteen years old, whispering softly to himself _Jack and Johnny went up the hill, to live in love and laughter, Jack ki le li papa ne, aur Johnny chup gaya bhag kar. (Jack was beaten by his dad, and Johnny hid soon after)_

“BAPU!” Sahiba shouted.

Karthik was startled back into reality, only then did he realise he had been crying angry tears.Hastily he wiped them from his eyes he tried to smile, but it felt false and somehow strangled. Sahiba and Arjun’s looks of concern only deepened.

“It’s okay, I’m fine.” He said trying to compose himself, trying to forget. He was good at that, forgetting. “What question were we up to?”

Later he let Arjun and Sahiba play outside and he went to the study where he knew Aman would be marking papers. As much as he did not want to disturb him he wanted to get this out of his system. He walked into the room. Aman was bent over the scientific papers in his swivel chair, hair askew, his glasses almost sliding off his face. Karthik’s heart swelled momentarily with affection at the sight of him.

Seemingly able to sense Karthik’s presence, Aman looked up. Karthik must not have been able to fully hide his emotions, because Aman asked:

“Is everything okay?”

Karthik didn’t answer him and merely handed him his phone showing his the notification from his brother. After Aman had read it he took off his glasses and rose from his swivel chair and enveloped Karthik in his embrace. Karthik buried his face in his neck, and he allowed himself to weep, to truly weep. He didn’t exactly know why he was weeping, but this message had pierced something deep in him, something he had dared not touch before.

All of a sudden Karthik felt another pair of arms wrap around their legs. He looked down to see Sahiba embracing them as fiercely as she could as if she could sense that something pained him. They stood like that for a full minute, wrapped up in each other.

“Where’s Arjun?” Aman finally asked, noting the absence of the other boy.

“His Mummi took him home.”

“Already?”

Usually, Aanya would stop by and have a conversation with them over some chai and dried fruit.

“I told her you were busy,” Sahiba answered pulling away, she looked at Karthik with that piercing gaze of herss.

Karthik felt a little guilty, he was supposed to keep an eye on both the children while working on his poetry. But he also felt strangely relieved. He wasn’t sure he was able to talk properly just yet, let alone hold a whole conversation with Aanya.

“Why are you crying?” She asked her dark eyes seemed to burrow into Karthik, searching for an answer. It wasn’t rare for her to see him cry. But crying over books or movies was entirely different to… _this_. Whatever _this_ was.

Aman’s eyes met Karthik’s, questioning. _Should we tell her?_ Karthik turned back to their daughter.

“My father died.” He managed out. “We might have to go to his funeral.”

“Do you miss him?” Asked Sahiba, too young to know what Karthik’s father had done.

When she was younger she used to ask what the marks on his back were, where he had got them. _Fairies_ had told her one time and for many years she had gone on believing that fairies had blessed her father. He knew she was too old believe in that anymore, he also knew that she sensed that his back carried a far more sinister story than he dare let on. But she never asked and he wasn’t sure he could tell her, just yet.

It was strange, her question. _Do you miss him?_ He missed the father of his younger years. The father who held nothing but adoration in his eyes for his youngest son. The father who had picked him up when he fell. But his mother had died, that father had disappeared. The man his father had been at the end? Did he miss him?

“I’m not sure.” He answered as honestly as he could.

He felt Aman’s hand squeeze his shoulder and his voice as warm and as comforting as ever whispering “You don’t have to go, you don’t have to do anything.”

Sahiba’s expression grew confused then. Karthik could sense her thoughts, he could hear them as loudly as if she was speaking _I’d miss you if you died_.

“He was my father after all,” said Karthik after a while. “He fulfilled his duties as he saw fit. I will fulfill mine the same way. I’ll go.”

“Alright then,” said Aman. “When do we leave?”

“ _We_?” Up until now, Karthik hadn’t even entertained the notion that Aman or Sahiba would be with him

“Dumbass, we’re family now, remember?” Said Aman smiling “We stick together no matter what. Besides, I think it’s time Sahiba saw Punjab and where her father grew up.”

The day after they took a train to Chandigarh and then a bus to Hoshiarpur. Karthik had replied to his brother telling him he’ll be there. And just like that for the first time in many years, Karthik stepped on the familiar soil of the little village he had grown up in. So much yet so little had changed. The houses were the same, mud bricked and crumbling. The trees and the fields held on to their perpetuity.

But the people? Some he recognised, some he didn’t. He had doubted that anyone would recognise him. He wasn’t the skinny 17-year-old son of a blacksmith who with a certain ammount of relief had left this place, left his family to find life and purpose. He had become a tall broad man, a journalist and an aspiring writer, who had found life and purpose and family. Surely no one would recognise him. But they did.

He was forced to wade through countless stares that turned into greetings, into hugs, into tears. Then finally, _finally_ he reached his childhood home where his brother Harpreet now stood to greet him. Karthik wondered how long he had been sitting there on that oh-so-familiar porch watching and waiting for his long lost brother to come back home.

On their journey here, Karthik had imagined all the ways his brother had greeted him, all. Somehow his brain had totally skipped over the option where Harpreet would greet him with a fierce hug that lingered for good two minutes. Somehow his brain never thought that Hari would say “I missed you.” Or “How have you been?”. But it had happened, all of it. Quite frankly Karthik wasn’t sure how he felt but he answered them all as politely and kindly as he could.

After a few minutes of silence, Harpreet glanced towards both Sahiba and Aman who stood a little behind Karthik, hand in hand.

Karthik wasn’t sure what he should say at first, how he should explain the notion of family to a brother that had abandoned him. To a brother, he hadn’t talked to for nearly two decades. But no doubt Harpreet had gone through his Facebook, where Karthik had posted an almost embarrassing number of photos of the three of them (his Instagram stories were probably worse, but he couldn’t care less). Karthik mustered a smile, there was no point in lying.

“This is my husband, Aman and my daughter Sahiba.”

“Sahiba,” muttered Harpreet as if testing the name on his tongue, he gave a small sad smile. “You were always a sucker for those old romances.”

_Heer Ranja, Sohni Mahiwal, Sassi Punnuh, Laila Majnu, Mirza Sahiba_. He was more than a sucker for them. He knew every word to every song as he had first heard them from his grandmother's lips, then he had sung them all to Arjit, later to Aman and now little by little he was teaching Sahiba. _Arjit_. Karthik had tried not to wonder what had happened to him. It was easier to pretend he was dead.

Karthik motioned for Sahiba and Aman to come forward. He was afraid that Harpreet would refuse to greet them. But Harpreet shook Aman’s hand genially and after that placed a hand on Sahiba’s head of wild curls. The customary blessing of an elder to a child.

“This is your Thaiya Ji.” Said Karthik. “He’s my older brother.”

Sahiba smiled up at Harpreet before making a move to hide behind Aman. She was a ball furious energy at most times, but the first time one met her you would be forgiven for thinking she was shy.

“Come in,” said Harpreet. “Chai is ready.”

They walked into the house and by god so many things had changed. The building itself hadn’t changed, neither had some of the furniture and there was still that damnable coffee table. But somehow it felt more open, more lively. When they were seated in the living room Karthik learned why.

A woman in her late thirties came in with a tray of tea for them. Behind her was a boy of about sixteen and a girl of about thirteen. They wore their mourning like a graceful shroud. Harpreet introduced them:

“My wife, Gagan. My son Jagvir and my daughter Harleen.” He then told his children “These are your _Chachey_ Karthik and Aman and this is your cousin Sahiba.”

They greeted each other with the customary Sat Sri Akal and Karthik felt an instant liking towards his brother’s children.

“Sahiba why don’t you go play with your cousins.” Said Aman, lightly pushing Sahiba towards them.

Usually, that meant _the adults need to discuss something._ Sahiba relented, albeit a little reluctantly, walking off with her newly discovered relatives. Karthik, Aman, Harpreet and Gagan remained, sipping at plain chai. There were no biscuits or food. Of course, there wouldn’t be, someone had died, it wasn’t traditional. Karthik made a mental note to tell Sahiba that if he ever died to make sure she served everyone ras malai, ladoos, and gulab-jamuns along with the chai. People might as well enjoy good food when he died.

“I see you found happiness.” Harpreet’s words were strained.

“I see you did too,” Karthik replied.

“I’m happy for you, I truly am.”

“Me too,” replied Karthik awkwardly not sure whether he meant that he was happy for himself or for his brother.

They discussed their lives and what had passed. Eventually, Gagan excused herself to the kitchen and Aman left to help her. The two brothers sat, alone for the first time in almost two decades and the reason, the real reason why they were here together after so many years hung over them. The shadow of their dead father. And how get you rid of shadows? You light them on fire.

“How did he die?” Karthik asked.

“Cancer.” Said Harpreet. “Probably from working in the forge. He asked about you on his deathbed he wanted to see you.”

This was news to Karthik’s ears and once again it pierced him in that place, the place that was a confused tangled mess of love, hate, rage, fear and everything else in between. It bled slowly and surely.

“Why?” He croaked out.

“He never said.”

“Why didn’t you try and contact me earlier?”

On one hand, Karthik was satisfied that his father’s final wish had not been fulfilled. One the other hand, he wondered whether he would have gotten that apology he had dreamed about for so many years.

“I didn’t think you’d want to see him, or any of us. After he died it was my daughter Harleen who convinced me to contact you.” Harpreet smiled. “ _Aj kal saare Facebook teh hundai hai_. _(Nowadays everyone is on Facebook)_. You have no idea how many Karthik Singhs I had to sift through.”

“You told your children about me?” Karthik asked, he didn’t know why it surprised him but it did.

“I told them everything.”

“Everything?”

The memory of that day in forge passed between them and Harpreet nodded “Everything.” He confirmed.

Karthik leaned back and studied his brother. Harpreet had grown to be a large bearded man, with the build of a blacksmith and the stomach of one who ate one too many _paranthas_ for breakfast. An honest man with an honest life. Exactly how Karthik had imagined him to be.

“You got fat.” He said, trying to adopt the ease of their childhood.

Hari’s face brightened in an instant with abrilliant grin and then his laughter, deep and powerful boomed through the room. That night as Karthik lay in the bed from his childhood and in the home of his childhood he felt something had lightened in his chest.

_And how get you rid of shadows? You light them on fire._

That was exactly what happened at his father’s funeral. He hadn’t dared to look or visit the body of his father when he came. He had been too afraid to see the visage of the man who had been his father, protector, and abuser.

When he finally saw him, he had been clothed in death, his once-proud visage now sunken and thrall unto the desolation of time. Oddly it put Karthik at ease knowing that even this man, whose face had plagued and tormented him through his life, could not escape death. When they lit him on fire and he was reduced to naught but ash and bone, Karthik let out a sigh that mingled with the thick smoke. It was a strangely therapeutic experience for him. He didn’t know how else to describe it.

After the various functions, quiet and ease had come over Hari and Karthik. All wasn’t forgotten and all wasn’t forgiven. But they were talking, they were healing and that was something.

On their last day in Punjab Hari sat him down in the living room and handed him a wooden box.

“What is it?” Karthik had asked.

“Open it up and see.”

So Karthik did just that and was surprised to see his grandmother’s phulkari dupatta. The very one she used to wrap him up in while she sang to him. It looked like how he remembered it, the geometric flowers, perfectly fitted together in every colour imaginable, on a base cloth of majestic royal blue. It had been one of the things he had regretted leaving behind when he left Punjab.

“Bibi ji would have wanted you to have it.” Said Hari quietly.

Karthik gave him and grateful smile. When Hari left the room he unfurled it and wrapped it around himself. It still smelled like her. Suddenly he felt that fearlessness in him, the kind he felt when Aman or Sahiba were around. He got up and walked out of the room, out of the house and into the one place in this damned village he hadn’t yet had the courage to visit.

His father’s forge.

It was as he remembered it. Every tool, every chip of wood. Even the anvil was the same. And that place, that confused place in him, the one that he had pierced a thousand times over ever since he received that message from his brother, finally burst. The steady slow bleeding had become a gush, a flood, a powerful river of blood dancing feverishly with the flashing storm of emotions.

He sank to his knees and let it unfurl through him, let it tear him apart, let it ravage him. It was here where it had all happened. When his father had caught him and Arjit in the field in a passionate embrace, he had taken him to this forge and had heated an iron rod. Karthik didn’t know how many times he had hit him but the pain had been unimaginable. In the end, he only remembered the footsteps of his father and brother leaving, he remembered the feeling abandonment, the loneliness, the fear, the pain, and the rage. Most of all he remembered the words he had repeated to himself again and again. He said them now

“ _Jack and Johnny went up the hill,_

_to live in love and laughter,_

_Jack ki le li papa ne,_

_aur Johnny chup gaya bhag kar.”_

“Nahi Bapu,” said a voice behind him. “Poem galat hai.” (No father, the poem is wrong)

He turned around to see Sahiba standing the doorway of the forge with Aman standing behind her. How long had they been here?

“Then how is supposed to go?” He asked, his voice cracking and through tears.

He must have looked a pitiful sight, weeping and kneeling wrapped in the phulkari dupatta. She approached him, kneeling he was at height with her, she wiped the tears from his face and started speaking:

_“Jack and Johnny went up the hill_

_To live in love and laughter_

_They found a girl and took her in_

_Then lived happily ever after”_

It was simple in its composition but it meant the world to him. He did not know how to respond to it. Not with words. He unfurled the dupatta from around him and placed it on her shoulders. On her, it looked like an oversized cloak.

“You look like a princess.” He finally told her. She did look a little like royalty.

“It’s too big.” She complained, then suddenly there was a wicked gleam in her eyes. She stepped forward andplaced one end around Karthik’s shoulders before she turned to Aman.

“Come on Papa.” She said outstretching the other end to him.

Aman came forward and knelt where she could wrap it around his shoulder too. In truth, the dupatta wasn’t quite big enough to actually fit them all. But they sat wrapped in it anyway, in each other’s embrace, savoring the moment. _Because blood doesn’t make family, but hearts certainly do._


	9. 9 Years Old

Karthik and Aman barely fought. Of course, there was always the occasional bickering and name-calling but that didn’t count. No, when Aman referred to a fight what he meant was the tear-inducing, bringing up the past kind of fight. Those rarely happened. But whenever they did, Aman felt like it would be the end of everything.

He wasn’t quite sure how it had escalated this time or where it even started. But he remembered they were coming home from a wedding (why was it always weddings that started shit) shouting in the car with Sahiba sitting in stunned silence in the back. The shouting continued even as they opened the front door of their home and went inside. And somehow, somehow they started bringing back things that should have been left in the past. Things they agreed they shouldn’t bring up again. Karthik knew him better than anyone. That also meant he how to wound and he did it well.

“It was you who ran up the stairs and left!” Karthik had shouted at him.

_How long had this been festering in him?_ Aman wondered, _How long had he let this eat away at him_? A knot of guilt started to burgeon in Aman’s stomach. _No_ he though _not this, anything but this._

“Do you really need to bring that up?” Aman had shouted back. “In front of Sahiba too?”

“It’s time Sahiba learned that her Papa was a coward.”

Aman then looked into Karthik’s eyes, those brilliant dark eyes and tried not to falter. He met his husband’s gaze with what he hoped was a steady and discerning one of his own.

“Say that again.” He dared, his voice dangerously low.

Karthik did not answer and Aman noted it feeling a thrill of small victory.

“You know I did what I did to protect you.” Said Aman calmly.

“By letting me get beaten. I could have died, you didn’t even come down to see how I was. No, you just wanted to get married to your precious Sunila and please your Papa!”

He hadn’t told Karthik.

He didn’t know how he could without sounding melodramatic.

After he had promised to marry Kusum in exchange for Karthik’s safety and everyone had been celebrating upstairs, he had gone down to where Karthik lay the crumpled pride flag draped over his body. Aman had checked his pulse, checked his breathing, his heartbeat, his bones for any fractures, he checked everything he could have. He had traced the already forming bruises with his fingers, watched as they slowly bloomed like ugly roses into multicolored blotches. In the end, he had held Karthik’s unconscious body in his arms, he had wept and kissed him all over until every inch of him covered in either kisses or tears and apologised profusely for what he had done and for what he was going to do, even though Karthik couldn’t hear him. No one had disturbed him, no one had come down to tell him to stop. Perhaps they saw the roiling storm in his heart and decided to let him be, let it ravage him till he was gaunt hollow and haunted, with no spark or fight left in him. Perhaps they had thought he was saying goodbye for good.

“Her name is Kusum, and you know that very well.” Said Aman. “You also know very well that if I hadn’t done what I did your self-sacrificing ass would have kept being beaten!”

“Maybe you should have let it happen.”

The petty part of Aman, the part that wanted to take out the spear that Karthik had thrust into his chest and wound him back for even bringing this up took over him “Yes maybe I should have.”

Karthik stared at him for a full minute before he got up and went to the front door.

“Where are you going?” Aman started to panic. “Have you gone crazy? Come back!”

“Just leave me alone!”

With that Karthik slammed the door so hard Aman was left in shock. He heard the engine of their car start, he heard the car leave the driveway. Aman was prepared to chase after him when he heard a quiet sob from behind him. Sahiba had started crying. He was torn, on one hand, he was afraid Karthik would do something stupid in his volatile state, on the other he did not want to leave Sahiba alone.

He thought it through. Karthik had taken the car, and no matter how fast Aman was at running, no matter how hard his adrenaline propelled him, he would never able to catch up to him. The best thing was to wait it through it, comfort Sahib and then try to contact Karthik.

He went to her knelt and enveloped her in his embrace, despite the sparkling embroidery of her little ghagra digging into his skin. She cried onto his shoulder and he tried to keep a brave face, when he wanted nothing more than to break down into tears himself. He needed to assure her that everything was going to be okay.

“Don’t cry,” he pleaded. “Shh…please, you know your Bapu and I fight sometimes. It always gets better in the end.”

She sniffled, and Aman knew there would soon be a wet snotty spot on his nice blue kurta, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“You never fight like this,” she hugged him tighter. “I don’t like it.”

“I don’t like it either.” He admitted weakly.

As he said it he was taken back to when he was her age. His parents had fought loudly and openly and over the stupidest silliest things too. Even now he could hear their screams ringing in his ears, the clatter of objects hitting the walls, the smashing of vases. When they were about to get physical he remembered putting himself between them joining in their screams, begging them to stop. He remembered this and held on to Sahiba even tighter.

“Papa?” She said after a while.

“Mmm?”

Sahiba pulled away and looked at him straight in the eye. He noted that they had gone red, both from tiredness and crying. She studied him and said slowly, surely but clearly:

“I don’t think you’re a coward and I don’t think Bapu thinks it either.”

The lump in his throat, the lump that carried the ache, the urge to weep scratched his throat raw, he felt the muscles in his face contort with the effort to keep himself from crying. Until now he didn’t know how much he had wanted, no, _needed_ to hear those words.

The truth was he wasn’t sure whether he _was_ a coward. He had promised to stay by Karthik’s side, and he had broken that promise and ran up those stairs. Aman had known that as long as he was there in front of Karthik, Karthik would derive a strange fearlessness and hope from his presence. He would have kept letting himself be beaten by Aman’s father. Aman had also known that his father hed been getting tired, he wouldn’t have gone on for as long as he did if Karthik hadn’t handed him back that stick.

It had all seemed so simple to Aman, he had to make sure that Karthik did not pick up that stick again. To do that Karthik needed to lose his source of energy and hope. So Aman absented himself from the scene.

For years he told himself that running up those stairs was the best way to ensure Karthik doesn’t get seriously injured. The best way to make sure that Karthik didn’t pick up the stick and hand it to his Shankar again. Through this small act of betrayal he had been able to prevent the situation from escalating, he had been able to prevent serious injury to Karthik.

But if there had been another way? What if- no he shouldn’t think of the past. He had tried everything he could then he had tried to stop his father and had been thrown to the ground. He had screamed and pleaded and shouted before he had run up the stairs. He should not allow himself to forget that. He had what he thought best in that situation, and he couldn’t change the past, there was no point in thinking about it.

He contented himself by placing a kiss on Sahiba’s forehead.

“Thank you,” he managed. “Go change, brush your teeth and sleep. I’ll call Bapu. Did you want warm milk?”

Sahiba grimaced and clutched her stomach “Too many ras malai.” With that, she rushed offto her room.

When she left Aman was faced with the daunting task of contacting Karthik. He wasn’t sure if Karthik even wanted to speak to him so he ventured at sending him a text.

_Karthik come back, please._

He watched at the message was sent, delivered then left on read. Karthik was an annoying little shit when he wanted to be but even so Aman couldn’t keep the burgeoning anxiety away.

When it started raining his anxiety threatened to overcome him.

He really wished they hadn’t decided to sell the bike last year, at least then he could still catch up to him. He sat on the sofa impatient and tried not to imagine the thousands of ways Karthik could hurt himself. He tried not to imagine the mangled mess of mess of their car on the side of the highway. Tried not to imagine how the rain would mingle with blood. Tried not imagine his body, splayed out and cut open like god’s personal massacre. And the worst bit was that Aman imagined him dead. That scared him, imagining life without Karthik.

He tried calling him. Once, twice, three times, no answers. Losing patience he threw his phone to the other end of the sofa and let out a guttural scream of frustration. _Damn you_ he thought. But he couldn’t stay away for long, he picked up his phone and texted him again.

_Please at least tell me you’re safe._

It wasn’t left on read, it wasn’t even delivered. Aman wasn’t sure whether he should be relieved that this time Karthik wasn’t going to leave him on read out of sheer annoyance or get more worried at the fact that it wouldn’t send. His mind subconsciously chose the latter.

He was about to get up, out into the rain and walk all the way to Aanya and Rahul’s and ask for their car, when he heard the jingle of keys and the front door opening. Aman got up and walked into the hallway to see Karthik come in. He was drenched, his hair was plastered against his head, the rain dripped off him in rivulets. The finery he had worn to the wedding clung to him in a way that made Aman want to run up to him, kiss him, hold him, before forcing him to have a warm shower and doing other things to him. But the anger in him burned just as much as his desire so he stood his ground and watched him with a furious expression on his face.

“Saale, kutte kammene! (bastard, dog, rascal!)” He started accusingly. “I called you at least three times.”

“My phone died,” Karthik explained holding it up as evidence. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what exactly?” Aman wanted to keep calm but his voice was getting louder by the second. “Sorry that your phone died? Sorry for leaving me on read? Not answering my calls? For making Sahiba cry? For making me worried? Which one Karthik? What are you sorry about?!”

“I’m sorry for all of it, everything. I’m sorry for bringing _that_ up when we agreed not to.” Said Karthik, he had previously been unable to meet Aman’s eyes, but now looked up and Aman knew he was sincere. “You did what you had to and I’m grateful I really am.”

"You shouldn't be. I could have done more."

"Neither of us could have done more," said Karthik softly. "Do you hear me? Do you understand?"

The tears that had threatened to spill from Aman’s eyes all evening now swept down his cheeks in bold furious strokes. Aman hastily tried to brush them off, but they kept coming. Karthik came forward, slowly hesitantly, as if fearing rebuff, he placed his hand tenderly against Aman’s cheeks and wiped the tears away.

Aman looked into Karthik’s eyes and all the anger and rage that he had felt left him when he saw his husband’s expression savaged by remorse and worry. Aman did not hesitate as he hugged him fiercely, before jumping back, surprised as to how cold and wet Karthik’s clothes were. He laughed.

“You should change..."

“Maybe you should come and help me.” Karthik’s smile was as wicked as his suggestion.

Aman couldn’t help himself he leaned forward and attacked Karthik with his lips.

“That’s gross.” Came a voice behind them, Aman pulled away from Karthik and whirled around. It was none other than Sahiba.

“I thought you were asleep.”

Sahiba shook her head and held out something towards. Aman bent down and took it from here. It was their old Sholay CD, the same one from the college days. Suddenly Aman was transported back to the first time he met Karthik.

They had just been introduced to each other by the landlady of the apartment block and they decided to help each other set up the furniture and their belongings. After all they were going to live together. During their unpacking Aman had accidentally dropped his CD for Sholay, he had bought it on the way to Delhi for old times sake. Karthik had picked it up and handed it to him “You like Sholay too?” He asked. “Yeah” Aman had replied, “It’s my favourite movie of all time” “Mine too”. They ended up forgetting to unpack their things and watched the whole movie together, singing along to every song and dramatically reenacting every iconic scene. In Aman’s opinion, it was a glorious start to their equally glorious relationship.

In the years that followed it had been their go-to movie for movie nights (which later turned into movie dates), it the movie they would watch whenever one of them were sad, and the first movie they had shown Sahiba when she was old enough to sit down and concentrate on the TV screen for more than an hour. Kusum had thought that it was too violent of a movie for a three-year-old but Sahiba had enjoyed it.

It was 3 o’clock in the morning. _To hell with it_ thought Aman. _Sholay was worth a day off work._

“Alright set it up,” Aman relented. “Your Papa and I need to change.”

So it came to be that three them sat on the sofa in their pyjamas with a bowl of popcorn between them, rewatching Sholay for perhaps the thousandth time in their lives. When it came to the scene where Jai and Veeru were singing on their bike Karthik pulled both Aman and Sahiba close him and sang in that sweet voice of his:

“ _Yeh dosti hum nahin todenge, Todenge dam magar tera saath na chhodenge_ ” _(We will never break our friendship, till my last breath, I will not leave your side)_ before kissing both of them.

Those words had been their wedding mantra, their wedding prayer and their wedding vows all rolled into one, sung with their own tongues in defiance of all the age-old traditions and customs that had constrained thousands before them. They had been kings - no, they had been gods - with stardust at their heels, the planets in their control, the bonds of the universe revolving around them.

And though had not completed the traditional rounds at the mandap (due to the damned police), it didn’t matter to Aman. In his heart of hearts, he and Karthik were married, and he wouldn’t have exchanged that moment for the world or even for a proper wedding.

And here were the words of their marriage again ringing in his ears and this time they had Sahiba cradled between them. Aman realised he wouldn’t have exchanged this moment - fights, tears and kisses and all - for the world either.


	10. 12 Years Old

In the last few years, Sahiba had grown from fierce slip of a girl to an equally fierce pre-teen with the biggest crush on Hritik Rohsan (“He’s at least fifty years older than you,” Karthik had said. “Doesn’t matter Bapu, love is love.” Sahiba had answered. “And you’re underage.” Aman had replied drily. “What makes you think he’ll notice you and if he does he’ll probably be going to jail for it. Quite a poignant love story, don’t you think Karthik?” “Shut up Papa.”). But as it often happened with children, growing up caused many complications for both the parents and the child. Namely the complications of puberty and sex education.

Sex education was simple enough. They got Rajini to do it for them. Well, not really. They had tried. By god both, Karthik and Aman knew how hard they had tried. But every time they sat Sahiba down, she had looked up expectantly with those innocent eyes of hers (this was before they realized she was utterly in love with Hrithik Roshan), and they simply couldn’t bring themselves to scar her for life. Underneath it all was a fear.

Sahiba had come to accept that she had two fathers very early on and didn’t care for a mother. But then again both Aman and Karthik were sure she didn’t realise how the process of making children actually worked and no doubt had come to think of both of them as her real parents. They hadn’t had the heart to tell her she was adopted. And if they told her this…would she be curious about her real parents? Would she want to know who they were? Would she cease to see Aman and Karthik as her beloved Papa and Bapu?

The last question disconcerted Karthik the most.

Aman had eventually called up Rajini, telling her about their predicament. Of course, she had laughed in their face (or rather in their ears). _Prudes_ , she had called them and Karthik had been stunned into disbelief. _Prudes?_ If only she knew. Even so, she had graciously taken the next train Delhi and had given Sahiba a surprise visit from her favourite (and as Aman was keen to point out her _only_ ) Bhua.

When they finally had _the talk_ Rajini had come out of the room howling with laughter.

“Pagal ho gahin tu? (have you gone crazy?)” Karthik had asked, he had been waiting nervously outside the door.

She shook her head and burst out into another peal of raucous laughter before breathing out “She already knows”

Out came a non-plussed Sahiba she eyed both her fathers quizzically.

“Is that what you have been trying to tell me all this time?” Asked Sahiba she turned to Aman. “The syllabus changed, Papa you should know this, you’re a teacher, we learn it in sixth year.”

“I _used_ to be a teacher,” Aman replied. “That’s _professor_ to you.”

“Okay, Professor Papa Tripathi Sahib I apologise profusely for my mistake.” Her tongue had also, it seemed, grown sharper.

“Do you have any uh…questions?” Asked Karthik. “About uh…?”

He wasn’t sure how to word it properly.

“I know I’m adopted if that’s what you want to ask” Said Sahiba quickly. “I’ve known for a while.”

“Sahnu kyon nahi duseya? (Why didn't you tell us?)” Asked Karthik loudly and dramatically.

“Aren’t you a little curious about your biological parents?” Aman butted in, calmly.

“At first, yeah, I was. But then I thought about and they probably abandoned me didn’t they?” It was clear from her voice that she was still struggling with the idea. “I don’t need them. As far as I’m concerned you’re my real parents.”

She was at that stage where she could go from being someone who couldn't for the life of her use proper grammar to a very eloquent speaker that could rival Malala herself. This fell almost into the latter moments, or maybe Karthik was being biased.

That had been the end of sex education. Next came puberty. Well technically the talk about puberty itself had happened long before the sex talk and it had been less daunting. Besides Sahiba always had Sunaina, Rajini, Kusum, Devika or Aanya whenever she had questions that neither Karthik or Aman could answer.

But right now puberty seemed very, very complicated. For one Karthik wasn’t entirely sure which sanitary items Sahiba used and the aisle in the grocery store was stacked with every kind of variety of pads and tampons. He wished he’d paid more attention to the ones she or Aman had bought during grocery shopping. He was entirely at a loss.

Aman had finally gotten a job as a biochem professor at their local university and right now he was a guest lecturing at Chennai, leaving Karthik and Sahiba to their own devices. Unfortunately, Sahiba had run out of pads and as luck had it, she found out while she was in the bathroom, so it was up to Karthik to get the pads for her. Sahiba had started her period fairly early in life compared to most girls. Karthik could still remember when it happened.

_She had been eleven years old then and had complained of a stomach ache all day. When she had gone to the bathroom she had started screaming. When both he and Aman had run, stood outside the door and knocked asking what was wrong she had said calmly:_

_“I’m on my period.”_

_Neither of them had expected it to happen so soon. Most girls were twelve or thirteen when they started. They were also surprised at the calmness of her tone._

_“Okay,” Aman had said. “I’ll get some pads for you, I know its scary…”_

_“I’m not scared.” She said._

_“Why on earth did you scream?” Asked Karthik, the initial worry sloughing off to reveal exasperation._

_“You wouldn’t have come quick enough otherwise.”_

_Aman had sighed then and looked at Karthik accusingly “She takes after you.”_

_With that Aman went to the front door, took the car keys and left._

_“Do you need me to do anything else?” Karthik asked her through the door once Aman had left._

_“Uh…clean underwear, maybe another pair of jeans.” She said awkwardly._

_“Is there much blood?” He asked, unsure why he asked._

_“Yeah, …it looks like I murdered someone.”_

_How anyone could survive 3 plus days of constant bleeding Karthik did not know, but he followed through with his daughter’s wishes. Aman had eventually come home with pads, a box of chocolates and heat pack in case the cramps got too debilitating and they had spent the rest of the day watching shitty rom-coms._

He decided it was probably best to call Sahiba and ask her which ones she used. Before he had left on this emergency run, he handed her her phone through the bathroom door, _Just in case you get scared or need me._ He had said, he hadn’t expected _he_ would need _her_.

“What packet do you use?” He asked when she picked up, looking mournfully at the thousands fo brands and colours before him.

“Bapu, I’ve been sitting on this seat for almost an hour!”

“There are so many to choose from.”

“Papa is way better than you at this.”

“Too bad your precious Papa is down in Chennai giving lectures.”

“Aww Bapu, don’t worry you’ll be giving lectures soon too, don’t be jealous of Papa.”

It was true, after five or so years of drafts, redrafts, and rejections, his poetry collection was finally taken up by Penguin. Some of his old college friends (who were also university professors) were already booking him in for guest lecturing in the next year.

“I’ll give _you_ a lecture of you don’t tell me which pads you use.” Said Karthik.

“Whisper.” Said Sahiba. “You know the ads that come on TV sometimes.”

Karthik turned to where the Whisper packets were and was dismayed to find his options weren’t as narrowed down as he hoped.

“Why are there so many varieties?”

“Each one is for a different flow,”

“Which one do you need?”

“Any.”

“You sure? Which pad is the most comfortable?”

A woman next to Karthik turned quizzically towards him. He gave her his best try at a charming smile, before turning his attention towards his daughter who was laughing.

“Look I’ve never done this before, I don’t know how this works.” He hissed back.

“Look Bapu just get the one that says medium flow, okay?” She said. “I’ve been sitting this thing for an hour and it feels like my vagina grew teeth, chewed a man whole and is now vomiting him out in the most painful way possible. Please hurry!”

“Your descriptions are way too graphic.” He told her taking down as many packets of medium flow Whisper pads off the shelf as he could carry. He’d be damned if he asked her how many she needed. “Who taught you all that?”

Ever since the _sex talk_ , Karthik was sure Rajini had encouraged her to use the most graphic language whenever possible. To be quite honest Karthik found it more amusing than discomforting so he let her do it.

“I got that talent from you. Anyway, my description isn’t as graphic as some of your poetry.” She retorted. “Really, I’m glad you took out that ‘One Thousand and One Delhi Nights’ poem from your book. Though, I’m sure if you gave it to Papa on your next anniversary he won’t mind.”

“You read that?” Karthik blushed, as much as he enjoyed Sahiba’s newfound wit he did miss the days when she was oblivious to all this. “You weren’t supposed to read that.”

“Well its kinda hard to miss when it was the first thing that was on your Mac when I needed it for an assignment.”

Karthik started walking towards the counter, a large bundle of packeted pads in his arms. He was getting strange looks from a few people and he briefly wondered how Aman managed this. Really these people needed to grow up, there was nothing wrong with a father buying sanitary items for his daughter.

“I’m never letting you use my Mac again.”

“Sure Bapu, please hurry.”

“Maybe if you stop talking…“

“You’re the one who called.”

“Okay, I’ll see you soon. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

He turned off the phone to see the lady at the counter staring at him and the number of packets he was about to purchase.

“Are you sure you need that many?” Asked the cashier.

Karthik thought back to all the strange looks he had been getting and it finally clicked. They weren’t staring at him because he was buying pads, but rather because he may have bought too many. He almost considered toning down his purchase, maybe ten packets were rather excessive. But he thought against it. The more pads he bought now the less chance they would have of running out of pads in the future.

“I have many daughters.” He said as a way of explanation, embarrassment born from wounded pride creeping up his neck and colouring his cheeks.

“That would be 2000 rupees.” The cashier said and Karthik paid the amount and hurried home.

After handing Sahiba a packet through the door Karthik was sitting on the sofa reading a book. Sahiba came out of the bathroom and went up to him, snaking her arms around his shoulders and kissing his cheek.

“What was that for?” He asked her, he couldn’t help but smile.

“For being a great dad.” She said simply. “You didn’t have to buy ten whole packets but I appreciate it.”

Karthik’s smile only grew wider.


	11. 14 Years Old

Aman woke to the sound of raucous laughter in their back yard, which was quickly hushed. At first, he was confused. As far as he was concerned it was no one’s birthday, there was no cause for celebration or laughter, especially in the middle of the night.

It was only when Karthik shot out of bed and grabbed the lamp holding it as a weapon did Aman start to fear. Did they have intruders? Karthik opened the curtains of the window that faced the backyard and frowned. He turned to Aman.

“It’s Sahiba.” He said.

“Sahiba?” Aman echoed.

It took him a moment to register it. Sahiba was in their back yard? But why? He sifted through the possible options until only one made sense. She had snuck out and someone was with her. Aman got out of bed and went to the window. Sure enough, they saw two silhouettes, one the familiar wild curls of their daughter and another taller broader figure with shorter straighter hair, they were holding hands.

Aman turned to Karthik and what he found knotted in his chest. The day that Aman had run up the stairs he never looked down to see Karthik’s expression. He knew it would have completely and utterly shattered the few strains fo sanity that he had remaining in his panicked state. But he had imagined it would have looked something like this.

“She snuck out,” Karthik said as if he too was only just registering it, as if the shock was only just starting to sink. “She didn’t tell us, she’s got a boyfriend and she didn’t tell us?”

The way he said it broke Aman, the pain in his chest tightened.

“What did we do wrong?” Karthik kept asking. “Why does she not trust us?”

Aman looked out at the window where Sahiba her back against the wall and the mysterious boy who was now leaning forward to kiss her. Aman turned away.

“Let’s go to her room,” said Aman. “She won’t risk coming through the door, she’ll come in through the window.”

Karthik, evidently still distraught nodded, but followed Aman’s lead, the two of them paced the room, every second felt like agonising eternity. The voices got closer.

“My dads will wake up.” Came the voice of Sahiba. “Go home Vansh, please.”

“C’mon I just want to see what your room looks like.” Came the voice of Vansh, Aman tried not to hate him. “I won’t make any noise, I promise.”

“Alright but only for a few seconds then you need to go.”

The window opened and Sahiba clambered with Vansh right behind her. It took them a few moments to notice that Karthik and Aman were in the room when they did Sahiba stiffened. For once she didn’t lash out, she seemed too petrified to even move.

Aman raised his eyebrow “Did you have a good night?” He asked.

Sahiba still did no answer and looked down at the floor.

“Vansh isn’t it?” Asked Karthik, almost sweetly, but Aman could practically taste the menacing tone that laced his tongue. “Mummi Papa ko bataiya? (Have you told your mum and dad?)”

“Nahi sir (no sir),” said Vansh quietly. At least he had the politeness to call Karthik sir.

“Leave,” Karthik said. “And make sure they don’t find out.”

It sounded more like a warning than advice. Vansh nodded, he gave Sahiba a brave smile and one last squeeze of her hand, before slipping out into the night. In spite of himself, Aman found the moment to be endearing. He was reminded of the time when they were at Rajini’s wedding to Ashok all those years ago and Karthik had stupidly engaged in a terrible dance-off with Shankar. He remembered how Karthik had turned to give him a reassuring smile before the chaos ensued. God, he had loved him for it.

Sahiba looked up at them guiltily “I can…”

“Sit down!” Aman’s tone came out harsh, he wasn’t in the mood for her excuses and he knew Karthik was even more distraught than he was.

Sahiba, silenced, sat down at the edge of her bed while both Karthik and Aman stood arms folded. Sahiba tightened the leather jacket around her nervously. Aman recognised it, it was Karthik’s, his favourite one, the one the three of them took turns to wear from time to time. Aman remembered the first time he had worn it himself. It was two weeks after their kiss in the back of the cab and both he and Karthik had taken a midnight stroll. They were still cautious with each, almost as if the other was labeled fragile. Aman had felt a chill in the air and had regretted wearing short-sleeves. It was then that Karthik had taken off his jacket and wrapped it around him. “ _Won’t you be cold?” Aman had asked. “I’m not the dumbass who decided to wear short sleeves.”_

“Where did you go?” Asked Aman.

“Cinema.” Sahiba managed to yelp out.

“In the middle of the night?” Questioned Karthik, his voice growing louder. “Which movie was so important that you had to sneak out to watch it without our permission?”

Sahiba’s features turned furious “You snuck out and had relationships when you were my age you shouldn’t be talking!”

“We had our reasons!” Karthik was shouting now. “Our parents wouldn’t accept who we loved, that was why we hid and lied. You, on the other hand, have none of those obstacles and you know that!”

“Give us one good reason why you snuck out.” Said Aman, he couldn’t hide the scathing disappointment in his voice.

Sahiba opened her mouth and closed it once again frozen by fear and Aman was reminded of when he was younger and he had been caught doing something wrong. It could have been as small as not doing his homework and his father would sit him down and question him, grill him on why he did or did not do something. Aman would sit in silence reduced to a bundle of high strung nerves wrought with fear unable to defend himself from his father’s tirades, insults, and assumptions. By the end of it all he would be a weeping mess. Did that help discipline him? No, Aman only got better at hiding and lying and cheating.

Aman had promised himself that he wouldn’t be like his father, promised that he would never instill that fear in his daughter. But here was and he felt like his father more than ever. By god, there were so many grey areas in this, and for once he understood his father’s methods. He understood why his father did what he did. That didn’t mean he condoned it.

He took a deep breath and calmed himself, before turning to Karthik. Karthik seemed to have caught on to what he was trying to say, the lines of his face which had been hardened by anger now softened. They weren’t perfect, but the most they could do is not make the same mistakes as their own parents.

“I’m sorry,” said Sahiba. “I won’t talk to Vansh again.”

“We’re not angry that you have a boyfriend,” Aman said slowly carefully. “We’re angry that you broke our trust, snuck out and didn’t tell us. We’re not going to stop you from having fun or having a boyfriend or girlfriend for that matter. But we need to know where you are at all times and who you are with. You definitely shouldn’t be out during this time of the night. What am I going to do if I lose you? I only have one Sahiba.”

He tried to smile at the last part, but his throat caught. Pressure formed behind his eyes. He couldn’t speak.

“No, you shouldn’t be sorry,” Said Karthik after a while. “We should be the ones who are sorry.”

Sahiba startled looked searchingly at Karthik’s face.

“Why?”

“Somewhere along the track we stuffed up, we made it so that you felt like you couldn’t trust us.” Said Karthik. “It’s our fault too. We know we are not perfect but from now on, your Papa and I promise that you can tell us anything we will never be angry at you. Never, as long as it is truth.”

“Bring Vansh home someday,” Aman offered, finally able to speak. “Introduce him to us properly, poor boy probably thinks we hate him.”

Sahiba laughed, but it came out a little choked when Aman looked at her face, he realised why. Tears had sprung from Sahiba’s eyes. she got off the bed embraced them both.

Aman was brought back to the day when Shankar had driven them both to the train station and had given both Karthik and Aman his blessings. Aman remembered how that moment had made him feel. How it still made him feel. He never thought one's heart could shatter from happiness, but his heart had done just that. He hadn’t until now understood how his father had felt. But he did now. Aman held both Karthik and Sahiba tighter as the realisation came over him, no parent was perfect, but where there was love there was always room to grow.


	12. 16 Years Old

Vansh was actually a decent kid once they got to know him. He wasn’t particularly remarkable (personally Karthik thought she could have done a lot better but then again she could have done a lot worse) he was always respectful and polite but even so Karthik was sure it was because the image of him and Aman towering over him and telling him to leave hadn’t quite left. He used this to his advantage from time to time, which Aman often reprimanded him for. Karthik was far too amused to stop.

The love story of Vansh and Sahiba lasted two years. Those two years were filled with all the sweetness and passion that first loves often brought. When Karthik looked at them together he was reminded of his time with Arjit back in Punjab. But there was a hint of bitterness in his thoughts, first loves don’t last. Well, unless you’re Aman. Aman was an exception to that age-old rule. He didn’t want to see the day when Sahiba’s heart was broken.

One would be forgiven to think that during those two years Arjun would have been distanced and forgotten. Karthik had expected it. But Arjun defied all such prophecy and stood firmly by Sahiba’s side as steadfast, as doggedly loyal as ever. Forever her second-in-command, her shadow. Once Karthik had asked Sahiba whether Vansh was jealous of her relationship with Arjun.

“Why should he be?” Asked Sahiba. “Arjun’s my best friend, he knows me better than anyone and if Vansh thinks I’m going to sacrifice those eleven years just for a few hours with him, he’s got another thing coming.”

Karthik wasn’t sure Vansh agreed with that sentiment but he himself definitely did. He never had a friend like that, not until Aman. A good friend, a loyal friend, a friend you can tell anything and everything, a friend you could trust with all your heart, a friend you could always rely on.

Those kinds of friendships were rare, hard to find and when you found them, you’ll be damned if you ever let it go. Sahiba was right, it didn’t matter if it was romantic or not, she should not compromise what she already had with Arjun with whatever she could have Vansh.

Karthik knew this and still, it came as a surprise to him when this love story finally ended. Sahiba was in her room talking to Vansh through the phone having just finished her work while Aman had volunteered to make dinner for them tonight as Karthik had just come back from a trip to Chandigarh, he had been guest lecturing at a university there.

The success of his first book of poetry had been gradual, it took a couple of years, but it had eventually picked up a large following. He was hoping to continue his manuscript for his second book, a novel this time, but now he wanted to savour this reprieve at home. He wanted to unwind and spend as much time as he could with Sahiba and Aman. He was sitting at the kitchen counter watching Aman (and talking but that was mostly a secondary activity).

Aman recently started sporting his short beard more frequently, a thing that Karthik found immensely attractive. It gave Aman a sort of gravitas and accentuated the sharpness of his features. So much so that even as Aman was wearing his “Best Dad Ever” apron and measuring the spices for their dinner, Karthik felt drawn to him in a way that both thrilled and scared him.

“What are you looking at?” Asked Aman.

“Please don’t ever shave off that beard.” Said Karthik.

Aman laughed touching his beard self-consciously, it was so endearing it almost broke through the menacingly attractive atmosphere he had been giving off. This only made Karthik want to kiss him more.

It was then that they heard shouting from the direction of Sahiba’s room. As much as they did not want to eavesdrop it was getting harder as her voice was getting louder.

“He’s my friend!” Came Sahiba’s impassioned voice. “He’s my _best friend_ Vansh I’ve known him since we were five. _Five._ I’m not going to stop being friends with him because _you_ feel threatened.”

There was silence for a bit before Sahiba let out a groan of frustration “I don’t feel more or less for either of you, stop saying that. I love you both the same, just in different ways okay?”

  
  
There a muffled sound from the speaker before Sahiba cut him off “Cheating? I’m not-“

Karthik could practically feel her anger growing for his grew with it.

“Oh great, so I’m not now allowed to love my friends? What’s next I’m not allowed to love my dads?”

There was more muffled conversation.

“No, you’re wrong,” said Sahiba, her voice dangerously much like Aman’s when he was truly angry. “They _are_ my real parents. And you know what you are? Fucking possessive. No one talks about my parents or Arjun like that. We’re through.”

There were a few seconds where Karthik imagined Vansh was pleading with her to reconsider, telling her it was a mistake. “No, Vansh. Don’t even breathe in my direction ever again.”

With that there was silence and Karthik assumed she hung up. Then the sound of her footsteps coming towards kitchen resonated through the room, Karthik and Aman pretended they didn’t notice anything was wrong when she came in and sat next to Karthik.

“Is everything okay?” Aman asked.

“I broke up with Vansh. You probably heard the whole thing.”

“We tried not to.” Said Karthik reassuringly. “Do you want to talk this out?”

Sahiba’s face contorted she looked like she was about to cry, so Karthik placed an arm around, she leaned over and placed her head on his shoulders. Aman went to the fridge and brought out a cake.

“I was saving this for after dinner,” said Aman. “As a bit of a celebration now that your Bapu is home. But I think we should eat it now, you look like you need it.”

Sahiba smiled then and leaned forward to give Aman a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks, Papa.”

It was then that Sahiba’s phone started ringing.

“Who is it?”

Sahiba looked at the screen.

“Arjun,” Sahiba answered. “Vansh probably told him.”

She picked up the phone “Hey,”

There was a pause and Karthik could barely make out Arjun’s voice. No doubt he was questioning what was happening.

“It _wasn’t_ a misunderstanding. He’s a liar. He shit-talked you and my dads. He’s not allowed to do that.”

There was another pause as Arjun talked a little more.

“Yeah, I know you don’t care if he shit talked _you_. But I do. And why bring my dads into this?”

Arjun talked for a bit more, in the end Sahiba said “Hold up let me ask,” she turned to her parents “Arjun might come over you don’t mind right?”

“No not at all,” said Karthik.

“There’s dinner enough for four,” Aman chimed in. 

“They said yes,” said Sahiba. “See you soon.”

  
  
She hung up the phone and turned her attention to the cake. “How many slices am I allowed?” She asked Aman.

“As many as you like.”

Karthik never thought he would hear Aman say that. He had very strict bans on sweet foods when it came to Sahiba. In the end, they all had three slices of the cake each, being careful to save some for Arjun when he came over.

“Did you two ever break up with anyone?” Asked Sahiba after a while.

Karthik and Aman had told her much about their pasts, so they knew this question wasn’t merely inquisitive. If anything it was a plea for advice.

“We nearly broke up,” said Aman. “Twice actually. But your Bapu has more experience with breakups than I do.”

“Yeah your Papa is one of those rare breeds whose first loves actually work out,” said Karthik laughing, but right now he was thinking about Arjit and Devika. The first relationship ended because his father had forced them apart. The second because he had been denying who he was and when he finally accepted it had broken the illusion that he was trying to buil around himself. He wasn’t sure he was entirely qualified to help Sahiba but he tried this best. “Finding the right person isn’t easy, sometimes letting go is hard because in spite of everything you love them even when you know that person isn’t right, and that’s okay. You’re allowed to be upset and miss him even if he was an ass.”

“Thanks, Bapu, I really needed to hear that.” She paused. “Do you think I did the right thing?”

“It doesn’t matter if you did, I stand with you all the way.”

“You’re great Dads but I need you to be brutally honest here. Do you think I did the right thing?”

Karthik paused and considered. But it was Aman who answered.

“Yes,” said Aman. “I think you did. Romantic relationships aren’t everything, family and friends are just as, if not, more important and it's important not to forget that.”

“But you chose Bapu over your family when you two got married.”

“That was different, for the first time, I found someone who was family, a friend, and a romantic partner in one person, the same is true for your Bapu. Even more so for him. You find someone like that you just don’t let them go, not for the world.”

Karthik felt his heart swell with love and pride then, he could barely contain his smile and he remembered the day they got married.

_Yeh dosti hum nahin todenge,_

_Todenge dam magar tera saath na chhodenge_

_(This friendship will never be broken_

_Till my last breath, I will never leave your side)_

Any and every good relationship should be based on an equally good friendship he realised.

It was then that the front door rang and Karthik got up to answer it. He went out into the entrance and opened the door to find Arjun. In the past eleven years Arjun had grown much from the sniveling boy with the bitten bandaged arm. He was a tall and lithe, every bit as fierce as Sahiba with an easy grin and straight sleek hair that he now tied back at the nape of his neck.

“Hi Uncle,” he said with the casual ease of knowing of having known someone for a long time.

“Hey Arjun, come in we have cake.”

“Cake?”

Arjun was led to the kitchen, once Sahiba noticed him she stood from where she had been sitting rushed over and pulled him into an embrace that almost crushed him, burying her head in his chest. He embraced her back with as much fierceness. His hug only becoming tighter as her body seemed to shake with sobs, releasing the emotions that she had been trying to hold in. They stood like that for a minute before, Sahiba pulled away.

Karthik did not fail to note the tears in her eyes and Arjun’s drenched shirt.

“We’ll go for a stroll,” suggested Arjun, he looked up at Karthik and Aman. “If that’s okay with you.”

“Just make sure you’re back by dinner.” Said Aman.

Just like that Sahiba and Arjun went outside, leaving Karthik and Aman behind.

“If she marries him I won’t mind,” said Karthik. “I’ve always wanted a son.”

“No, you did not, you’ve always wanted a daughter. Besides-“

“Yes shut up I know what you’re going to say ‘But Karthik she may not love him that way.’” He ended with a rather accurate imitation of Aman “I’m just saying I ship it.”

“They’re not fictional characters Karthik.” Aman paused. “But you’re right, they are good for each other.”

“Do you think we can convince him to change his name to Mirza?”

“If you keep bringing this up, I’m shaving this beard off.”

“No!” Karthik blushed, it came out a little more impassioned that he had hoped, his face only reddened when Aman smirked, that damned feral smirk of his. Karthik was completely at his mercy, and somehow he didn’t mind.


	13. 18 Years Old

The thing about Aman was he hadseen thousands upon thousands of graduations. Okay maybe not _that_ many but he had seen his fair share. He had seen many when teaching at their local high school and always he had felt a surge of pride as he saw the students, _his students_ , grow and take their place in the world. He knew they would go on to do great things, brilliant things, amazing things. Many of them still kept in touch with him.

He had also seen graduations at the university he taught at, now as a professor. Though they were less personal, there was still that sense of pride, a certain knowledge in knowing that he had been a part of this journey.

Despite all this, he always thought it ridiculous when parents cried during graduations. _Your kid isn’t dying_ he would think _get over it._ But if he got through today without weeping, it would be a fucking miracle.

He and Karthik were now sitting in the hall. Karthik's attire was unusually somber out of respect for the dress code for the evening, but even so one could not ignore the bright pink tie that he wore. He always found a way to let his personality shine through, no matter what, it was a thing that Aman admired about him.

Karthik had the presentation booklet in his hands he was scanning through it to see the awards. While he was wholly engrossed in this activity Aman took the time to study him. They had both gotten old, being in their mid-forties but somehow they had the luck to age like fine wine (Aman half suspected that it was thanks to Sahiba and her weekly family work-out schedule but _he_ wasn’t going to tell her that). Though Karthik’s features had matured and there were streaks of silver in his hair and beard, he still held on to that vitality and exuberance. And right now he was wearing that expression that Aman loved so well, parted lips, eyes focused, brows furrowed. The intensity of it was what he loved so much about it, try as he might he couldn’t turn away.

Finally, Karthik found what he was looking for.

“Look, Aman,” he proffered the booklet towards him.

“You know I can’t read without my glasses,” Aman grumbled remembering, with much remorse, that he had forgotten his reading glasses at home.

“It says ‘Sahiba Tripathi, excellence in Hindi, English, History, Chemistry, Biology…’ and she didn’t tell us.”

“She probably wanted it to be a surprise,” Aman suggested.

“Aman, our daughter is a genius! And she didn’t tell us!”

Before Aman could reply Aanya and Rahul, Arjun’s parents came in and seated themselves beside Karthik. They exchanged greetings with the other couple, who as it turned out were late because of Rahul’s boss.

“Can you imagine,” Rahul complained. “He expects me to complete all those spreadsheets by tomorrow?”

“I feel sorry for you,” Karthik said sincerely. “I don’t even know how to use Excel.”

“Neither do I,” Aanya said flicking through the presentation booklet, before finding the name of her son. Aman could see her give a faint smile, which only grew wider as she kept reading.

“I bet he failed every course,” said Rahul jokingly.

“You’re in for a surprise,” said Karthik also reading the booklet. “Excellence in Mathematics, Engineering, Physics, and Chemistry.”

“All because of your help,” said Aanya gesturing to Aman.

During the last two years, Aman had tutored both Sahiba and Arjun in their science subjects while Karthik had taken up in helping with their essays. Aman shook his head.

“No, he’s got a very good mind for science.” He told Aanya truthfully. “I only helped push him in the right direction if anything.”

It was then that the lights of the hall dimmed. They were subjected to the torture of speeches. Even during his time as a high school teacher, Aman could not for the life of his understand why they had to go through endless, superfluous speeches. With the university he understood, they had to uphold an illusion of pompousness, but with high schools? It was just ridiculous.

Then finally, _finally_ , they started calling out the names of the students, Aman had to go through a whole train of kids he did not know before they got to Arjun Maheshwari, then finally Sahiba Tripathi.

When Sahiba, in her graduation gown and cap, came on the stage to receive her awards and her certificate of graduation, Aman could not help but swell with pride that was tinged with a certain sadness. She was no longer a child, the baby he used to hold in his arms, the toddler he would mount on his shoulders or the little girl who would come crying to him with scraped knees or elbows. She was a woman now brilliant, ferocious, beautiful and intelligent. And he had been a part of it all.

He knew now things would change, become more difficult, but he was glad for it. He felt Karthik’s arm snake around his shoulder. Aman hadn’t realised he had been crying until Karthik drew him in and kissed that space just between his eye and his cheeks, where the tears had been welling. They held onto each other for the duration of the ceremony.

He managed to compose himself by the time they met Sahiba afterwards. She was talking to Arjun. Holding her graduation certificate in herhands, as soon as she saw her fathers she grinned, ran forward and hugged them, while Arjun also greeted his parents, albeit a little less enthusiastically than Sahiba.

Once Sahiba pulled away her features turned serious “We should Face-Time Allahabad,” she said, “Dhadhi is going to be mad if you don’t.”

Sunaina had instructed them to Face-Time the whole family after the graduation ceremony. Aman could practically imagine the whole Tripathi khaandaan staying up late, waiting for their call. Aman drew his phone and dialled. When the phone was immediately picked up, Aman realised that his suspicions was true.

The whole family was sitting in the living room with the biggest smiles on their face congratulating Sahiba warmly (and loudly) on her graduation. When Aman saw Shankar’s expression of pure joy he was taken back to his own high school graduation. The only people who had come were his mother and Goggle.

He remembered sitting there in his graduation gown with his certificate in hand, thinking that his father had been there. He imagined his father looking up with unadulterated joy at his son’s achievements. And the words, he wanted his father to say the words, the words he had been waiting to hear all his life “I’m proud of you son.” The very thought of them had burned into his soul.

But he didn’t say them. He hadn’teven come. He found that out later as they had filed out of the graduation hall. _“An important science experiment”_ his mother had explained as if it were a viable excuse for a father to miss his son’s graduation.

But here Shankar was practically glowing with pride through the screen of Aman’s phone as his grand-daughter excitedly related her awards and achievements.

Aman turned to Karthik as Sahiba talked to the Tripathis, this time there were tears in his husband’s eyes. Aman laced his fingers through Karthik and stood on his toes to kiss that space just between his eye and his cheeks, where the tears were. He had never asked Karthik about his own graduation and Aman wondered now whether anyone of Karthik’s family had even been there when he had graduated. With the exception of Hari, he doubted it. He held onto Karthik’s hand tighter, the words he wanted to say flowing through the palms of their hands, a sweet sad unsung melody.

Even if they hadn’t gotten the love they had desperately craved from their families, at least they had given it to their daughter.


	14. 21 Years Old

The thing about children was that they grew up. And that, Karthik realised, was a beautiful tragedy in itself. On one hand, you are proud of the people they become and you are proud of your role in it. On the other, you miss the people they were and you miss being there for them. For most of his life, Karthik hadn’t truly known what it was like to be separated from a child. But now he did. It felt as if the tides of the ocean suddenly rolled backward, leaving him cold and aching for the waters to claim him back. It felt like a slow death.

Karthik knew that even though he never said it out loud, even though they never discussed it, Aman felt the same way.

If someone had told Karthik, 23 years ago, that he and Aman would have a daughter, that they would name her Sahiba and she would become entwined in the very fabric of their lives, he would have laughed in their face. But now? Strangely enough, everything felt a little…hollow.

Yes, he still had Aman and that made things bearable, but he hadn’t realised how essential Sahiba had become to his life. That was why every timeSahiba called them and announced she was coming home for the mid-semester break from college Karthik would be overjoyed. He wondered sometimes if he ever came back home in time, would his father have welcomed him with love. He had come to peace with his father’s role in shaping his life, but at the same time, there were questions that never left him.

He pushed all this aside today as he sat in the car with Aman waiting at the station. Sahiba said she would be here by 11:40 am, it was currently 11:41 am and Karthik was getting nervous.

“Do you think she’s okay?” He asked Aman.

“Karthik it takes at least five minutes to get from the train to here.”

Karthik mentally revised Sahiba’s arrival to 11:45 am, but as always she never stopped surprising him. She arrived exactly at 11:43 am, with her bright blue suitcase in tow. The sight of her familiar wild curls put Karthik’s heart at ease. Recognising the car she got in and greeted her parents with a kiss on each of their cheeks.

“Did you miss me?” She asked giving them a big grin.

“What kind of shit question is that?”Asked Karthik, teasingly. “Of course we didn’t, more quiet time for us.”

“I missed you too Bapu,” she said, picking up on the meaning behind his words.

“How’s college?” Asked Aman.

“Same old,” said Sahiba. “Preeti’s a real pain though, apparently arts majors don’t count as real majors. Sometimes I just want to rub into her face that she failed the exam to get into med twice.”

Sahiba had her heart set on becoming a historian or a history professor or a history teacher. Literally anything to do with history. Had Karthik and Aman been career-driven they might have asked her to reconsider. Finding a job with a degree in history was hard. But they knew better than to be confined to the old career-focused mentality. Sahiba will make it work, as she always made things work for her.

“Your Bapu and I always fought over that when we started out,” said Aman referring to the never-ending war between arts and science students. “I think we are the first people in history to make a marriage out of it as well.”

Sahiba laughed then “A love story for the ages. Kinda like Romeo and Juliet, isn’t it? Two majors both unlike in dignity, in fair Delhi College where we lay our scene…”

“Write a book on it” suggested Karthik

“Yeah you see I don’t like writing fan fiction about real-life people, especially if they are my dads.” She said. “That's just gross.”

  
  
“What about that one Hrithik Roshan x reader one you wrote,” said Aman. “He’s a real person and old enough to be your grandpa, which is probably worse.”

“Shut up Papa, you promised not to bring this up.” She huffed, mockingly exasperated. “I’m hungry what did you make?”

A slow smile crept up on Karthik’s face. Apparently some things never changed.

“Paneer,” said Karthik. “I made it this time, using your Thaiy Ji’s recipe.”

Karthik and Hari’s relationship may not have resumed the same ease as before, but Sahiba enjoyed spending time with her cousins on her Bapu’s side, so there was a renewed closeness between the families.

“Good I’m starving,” said Sahiba, then she paused. “How is…how’s Arjun?”

“He’s alright,” said Aman. “He wanted to come with us to pick you up, but he needed to stay behind to help his dad with their car.”

After almost twelve years of being practically joined at the hip, Sahiba, and Arjun, had to separate for the first time. Arjun had gotten into IIT in Delhi while Sahiba had gone to Loyola College in Chennai. Both Karthik and Aman knew they missed each other sorely. But as they say, distance made the heart grow fonder, certainly there was a fondness in her voice, a certain sweet and painful lilt that hadn’t been there before. Karthik recognised it, but he wasn’t going to bring it up. He’ll let things take their course.

With that they arrived home and dug into their lunch or roti and paneer, talking excitedly of what had passed.

“Can you believe it?” Sahiba exclaimed. “I spent weeks, weeks, studying pots. _Pots_ of all things.”

“Pots aren’t that bad.” Said Karthik. “They’re small, cute, made of clay.”

“Why don’t you try to figure out whether its Nile A silt or Nile B silt from the striations of the clay?” She countered. Having finished her lunch she started gathering the plates.

“I’ll do them,” said Aman. “Sit down you must be tired.”

“You’re treating me like a guest,” she said. “I remember a time when you _made_ me do the dishes. Let me do the dishes for the rest of the break okay?”

Aman and Karthik relented, it was nice, falling back into their old routine. Karthik knew it was only for a fortnight and then Sahiba would be gone, but he also knew better than to fill this with lamentations of their eventual separation. He will enjoy this wholly while it lasted.

Sahiba had finished clearing the dishes by the time Arjun came over. He greeted Karthik and Aman all with his customary easy smile, but when it came Sahiba, he embraced her, held on to her like he wasn’t ever going to let her go. It seemed Sahiba didn’t mind, she allowed herself to relax into his hold.

Karthik recognised this too. It was how he and Aman had often greeted each other after a long separation.

“Aman I just realised there was a wasp in the garage the morning, come and check it out with me.”

“There’s a what in the what now?” Then understanding came over Aman “Oh…”

Together the two of them went out through the backyard into the garage, where fortunately for them, there were no wasps in sight. The garage wasn’t a garage in the conventional sense since they kept their car parked in the driveway, it was an amalgamation of a library, study, cinema, gym and warehouse. They sat down on the old sofas.

“100 rupees to say that they will be a couple by the end of the evening.” Announced Karthik.

“We have a joint account.”

“100 rupees cash.”

“No one uses cash anymore.”

“Cash.”

“Fine.” Then Aman paused and smiled sadly. “She’s grown up.”

Karthik remembered the day when they had first seen her when they had first held her in their arms. _She’s so tiny_ Aman had said. _She’ll only get bigger_ Karthik had replied jokingly _Enjoy it while it lasts_.

“And we got old.” Said Karthik, unsure where the conversation was going, unsure of how he should feel, only knowing that through the happiness there was always going to be a certain sadness. Thus was the beautiful tragedy of humanity, nothing lasts forever. They sat in silence for a while.

It was then that Sahiba came in with Arjun in tow, her playful features brightened, her wild curls even wilder.She smiled knowingly at her parents.

“Did you get rid of the wasp?”

“Oh yes,” said Aman. “It's gone now, the garage is wasp free.”

“It’s a miracle nothing got knocked over.”

“The wasp was very cooperative,” offered Karthik as a way of explanation.

“Arjun and I are going to go down to the library in a few minutes,” she said. “Just wanted to let you know, also we’re dating now.”

Karthik found himself grinning. He turned to Aman,

“Cash.” He said simply.

Sighing Aman took out his wallet and took out the 100 rupees and handed them to Karthik.

“You two were seriously making bets on this?” Asked an astonished Sahiba, Arjun burst out laughing.

“Your Bapu was, he kinda has been for a while.” Said Aman, with all the bitterness of a person who had lost a bet.

Karthik shrugged as Aman continued to glower.

Arjun looked awkwardly at Karthik and Aman then said “So…how does this work. Do I get twice as many threats now?”

“No,” said Karthik, as innocently as he could. “That wouldn’t be necessary. Tell me how do you feel about changing your name to Mirza?”


	15. 27 Years Old

Sahiba Tripathi hadn’t really thought of marriage. Well, not in the traditional sense. She was never one to dream about a big wedding, fantasising every little detail, but neither was she one to scoff when other people did. She had been resolved to take it as it came. If she married that was fine, if she didn’t that was fine too. She never felt particularly strong on the topic of marriage.

No, that was wrong. There _was_ one instance where she did have strong feelings, that was the marriage of her parents. Both Karthik and Aman had told her story of their marriage a thousand times over and she had thought of it as the most beautiful thing in the whole universe, only increasing in its beauty in every retelling. It was a marriage that brought her into this world after all (okay maybe not physically but it did make her the person she was today) and as far as Sahiba was concerned the universe was doubly blessed because of her presence.

A few years ago while staying with her parents for the weekend as a break from work as a history researcher, before she and Arjun had moved in together, Sahiba had brought up the subject of marriage.

_They had been anxiously awaiting the news from the Indian government on their decision to decriminalise same-sex marriage. When the decision finally came through, they had been ready with a bottle of champagne, chocolate coated strawberries and cake. Usually, Sahiba would roll her eyes when her parents showed any sort of physical affection for each other, but that day she couldn’t help but smile as Karthik pulled Aman in for a kiss._

_“Are you going to marry again?” she had asked once they pulled away. “Now that it’s legal?”_

_Both Karthik and Aman had grown thoughtful. Aman had turned, looked into Karthik’s eyes and Sahiba noted that something, a message, a thought, a melody passing between them._

_“No,” Aman said finally. “I mean, of course, this decision is great, especially for future generations. But we won’t marry again. Laws don’t decide when two souls join. Our souls had joined long ago and I wouldn’t exchange that marriage for a real one. No law in the world gets to decide what is real and what isn’t for us. Not anymore.”_

_Sahiba could have sworn there were tears in both her fathers’ eyes then. It was hard to tell though, her own vision had been blurred and misted._

Sahiba sat now in the room of her childhood. The familiar walls plastered with the same floral wallpaper the same bed, the same everything. It seemed as if both her Papa and Bapu couldn’t bear to change anything, preserving her room like they preserved her memories. She knew her parents thought she couldn’t feel their pain, but she did. She always did. She felt it as much as them.

There were times when she wished that she could go back to her childhood. She missed the days when she would sit on her Bapu’s back as he did push-ups in the garage or when her Papa would be baking a new dessert and she would be propped up on the counter begging to lick the spoon. She wanted to go back to being the little girl who would crawl into her parents bed, and nestle herself between them, cocooned in their warmth. The facts simply were that humans grew up far too quickly to appreciate what they had, and when it was gone they were left in perpetual yearning.

Sahiba turned to the mirror and studied herself. She was no longer a little girl, but a woman grown, dressed in wedding finery. Her friends and cousins had been in here a few minutes ago, with her fussing grandmother Sunaina alongside her great-Aunt Champa, helping her get ready, but she had dismissed them in the end, a little curtly. It was her wedding day, she was allowed to be nervous. She was allowed some time alone.

Married. She was getting married. It all seemed so surreal. She still remembered when Arjun proposed to her over a bowl of dhal and rice as they sat in their apartment watching Netflix. They had been dating steadily for five years then, living with each other for about two of them. She remembered being unsure, unready, but the look in Arjun’s eyes the hope, the love, and the happiness. She had thought then of her parents and the way they looked at each other, and she knew then if she was going to marry anyone, make any relationship sacred before the eyes of God, it would be with Arjun.

When she told her parents again the question of changing Arjun’s name to Mirza popped up (as she had expected). Eventually, Karthik agreed to let Arjun keep his name, on the condition that Karthik would be allowed to him Mirza from time to time. _“Besides,” Aman had added. “Somewhere out there there’s probably a Mirza and Krishna getting married while our Sahiba and Arjun do the same.”_

Sahiba leaned towards the mirror and admired her eyeliner one last time. _Bapu and Papa would be proud._ She thought.She had come a long way from the raccoon-eyed girl staring enviously at her fathers’ perfectly done eyeliner. It was Karthik and Aman who had taught her how to do makeup. She had been stunned at their expertise. Neither of them had actually worn make-up, not outside, not in the house, not even to parties.

But then Karthik had taken out his phone and showed her the pictures from their college years, casual photoshoots from when they would experiment with makeup in their apartment with Devika all the way to their pictures at pride. “Why don’t you guys do it anymore?” She remembered asking. She had been twelve or so then. “Not sure” Aman had replied. Sahiba had sense something behind those words, a certain trepidation.

She had thought it strange, the pictures were beautiful, and besides not everyone could say that their fathers had taught them how to do makeup. “We’re going to have a makeup day every month,” she had declared. It had felt right to say it then, it felt right to follow through with the declaration, and only now did she realise how important it had been for them to hear her say that.

She looked good today. She wasn’t one to be humble about her looks, neither was she vain, but she had to admit that today at least she could rival Aishwarya Rai in her prime (on other days it didn’t matter, she knew she could capture a whole room with her personality alone).

Nothing about this wedding was going to be traditional. None of the prayers, or vows, or decorations. “ _How very un-sanskari,”_ the aunties would whisper. And Sahiba couldn’t care less, if her fathers had taught her anything that was _fuck traditional be memorable_. She hadn’t even gone for the traditional red sari, but rather a simple deep royal blue lehenga, with silver embroidery. Over her curls, which were as loose and untamed as ever, she wore a veil, also royal blue, studded with silver. It looked if the night sky had gently placed itself on her head.

But her look wasn’t complete. Sahiba went to the suitcase that was in the corner of the room and opened it. Right at the top was the phulkari dupatta that had originally belonged to her great-grandmother from her Bapu’s side. Sahiba, felt a surge of fevered emotions rush through her.

" _Ih Phulkari Mere Khaandaan Ne Kadhi_ ” she whispered, the lines from an old Punjabi poem, as she wrapped it around her shoulders. “ _Is Noo Ghut Ghut Japhiyan Paawan_ " _(This Phulkari was embroidered by my family, I embrace it warmly)_

For though the embroider and weaver of the cloth was her great-grandmother, Sahiba knew it was made of more that than that. Weaved in the colorful geometric flowers were the songs that her great-grandmother had sung to her father as she had wrapped him in the dupatta as child. In it where the memories of her father’s devastated figure, wrapped in the dupatta, kneeling and weeping in the desolation of forge, plagued by old memories. It held the warmth of when eventually the three of them had wrapped themselves in it, holding on to each other with the realisation of the word family finally found.

Suddenly she found herself half whispering half-singing.

_“Jack and Johnny went up the hill_

_To live in love and laughter_

_They found a girl and took her in_

_Then lived happily ever after”_

The words calmed her, put her at ease, like nothing, not even music ever could. Now the dupatta was hers and she would honour it, in every way she could.

Her reverie was broken with a knock on the door.

“I told you,” she said sharply. “I wanted some time alone.”

“Main hu (its me),” it was Aman.

“Nal main (and me),” it was Karthik. “We haven’t seen you the whole day."

“Oh,” Sahiba didn’t mind her parents coming in, especially since it was true, she had berely seen them the whole day. “Come in, the door isn’t locked.”

The door opened to reveal Karthik and Aman. They were dressed in finery, Aman in a shade of powder blue while Karthik wore bright electric blue. Though age had deepened the lines on their faces and peppered their hair with white, they were still undeniably her beloved Bapu and Papa.

When Karthik finally registered the Phulkari dupatta that Sahiba had wrapped around her shoulders, he looked as if his whole world had stopped, before the biggest grin lit up his face. Aman’s eyes had softened at the sight. She knew the memory of the three of them at the forge lay between them at that moment.

“How do I look?” She asked, doing a little twirl.

“Khoobsurat, (beautiful)” said Karthik, his voice strangled with a myriad emotions that Sahiba wasn’t even going to try to untangle.

She remembered when her Bapu had first given her the dupatta when she had to properly move out for her first job. She had been reluctant to accept it, she had seen him around the house from time to time, wrapping it around his shoulders like a cloak when he needed to find some sort of ease. She had seen him asleep with it sometimes too. She knew how important it had been to him. How important it still was. She had told him as much. “ _Mere liye fikir nah kar,_ ” _Don’t worry about me_ he had said bravely “ _I’ve still got your Papa_.”

Yes he still had her Papa, her beloved Papa, with his spine of steel and heart of gold. 

“How’s our little _sherani_ feeling?” Asked Aman.

“Nervous,” she admitted. “Very nervous, I’m not…what if I stuff up?”

“Then we will laugh, move on, and tell you children about it.” Said Karthik. Aman raised an eyebrow at Karthik to which Karthik promptly added. “That is if you want children, no pressure.”

Sahiba smiled. It was something she and Arjun still had to discuss, but she didn’t mind the thought of children.

“Your eyeliner is very good,” said Aman. “It’s better than your Bapu’s now.”

Karthik pouted in mock anger and Sahiba burst out laughing. Suddenly she felt a pain in her chest. It had been gnawing at her heart like a feral beast the whole day, but now that beast bit her, it bit her hard enough to make it feel like she was bleeding out. She knew she wasn’t going away forever, but this marriage marked the start of something else and she was going to miss this. This room, this house but most of all her parents with their jokes, advice, laughter, and love.

“We should probably go,” said Karthik. “Your Mirza is waiting.”

All rationality left her then, she went forward and embraced them both, like she had done so many times in her life, grateful that her makeup was waterproof. She was sobbing with all the fury of a thousand storms. If she were asked to measure how much she had cried at that moment, she would have said it equated to the number of times she had laughed in her entire lifetime.

And of course, she had laughed a lot. How could she not? Her parents, in spite of everything, had shown her how to live in love and laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! So this will be the end of To Live in Love and Laughter. Thank you to all readers, especially all of you who have commented, emailed or DMed me to tell me about what you thought of the story, what it meant to you and how it has affected you. Your words have truly inspired me to keep writing, and here we are at the end. No words can truly express my gratitude.  
> \- Sargun


	16. Sahiba

Hi Guys!

First of all, I would just like to say the response to this piece has been absolutely magical. Thank you for boosting my confidence as a writer and for accepting this story and Sahiba into your hearts. As some of you may or may not be aware my fav fic writer under this tag [ @dhyanshiva](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dhyanshiva/pseuds/dhyanshiva) has written a small continuation that details the wedding itself. It's an absolutely amazing piece and everyone should read it. The piece is called [Sahiba.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23477773)

Dhyan might say its an unofficial continuation. But from me its an official one (and a fucking beautiful one I'm honoured).

Check it out, you won't regret it 

\- Sargun


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